Me and You and Daisies
by Lingering Lilies
Summary: "Maybe 'happily ever afters' don't exist. Maybe they're fragmented and sprinkled throughout our lives to remind us to keep moving forward. Maybe, if we look from the right angle and maneuver the pieces just so, they become a masterpiece we keep adding to until the day we die." Future fic, Brittana as mothers. Sequel to "Taking the Long Way," but can stand independently.
1. Home

**Me and You and Daisies**

**Welcome, readers! I'm so glad you'll be joining us as Brittany and Santana continue their journey into motherhood. If you haven't already, be sure to check out the first half of their story, titled "Taking The Long Way." If you don't want to take on that large piece of reading, no worries. There will be details and a few characters throughout this story that you won't understand, but for the most part, I am making an effort to have this story stand on its own.**

**The title of this story is taken from the song "Me and You and Daisies" by an artist named Aslyn. There are gorgeous live versions of the song on YouTube, and you can listen to the studio track on her Myspace - or you could support an independent artist and buy it on iTunes.**

**And now, without further ado…**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Home<strong>

**Time: March 2022**

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><p>After hearing that first tiny, pinched cry seconds after our son was born, I swear I actually saw your heart crack open and heal itself over twice as big as before. You shook as he was placed in your arms, eyes flickering back and forth between me and him with that joyful, desperate disbelief that has marked every important moment in our lives together. As soon as you could see through your happy tears, you counted his fingers and toes and marveled at every gooey eyelash, every infant wrinkle, every paper-thin nail. He was no bigger or smaller than any other baby, yet somehow, the way you held him made him seem huge. I loved watching you hold him. You were overjoyed and terrified and so, so full of love.<p>

But after a minute I started to ache because I needed him. It was the most desperate need I've ever felt, as if every part of my body was calling out for him, straining towards him, crying for him. I needed to feel his warmth on mine and to see his face after nine months of only nudges and wiggles and hiccups in my belly. I'm sure you could hear how much I needed him because only a moment later, you placed him gingerly on my chest. As soon as I felt him against me, my heart cracked open, too. He was the tiniest, most powerful person I had ever met. I was overwhelmed and tears blurred my vision, making his outline fuzzier than the blankets wrapped around him. I ached in the best way from head to toe and you just placed your hand on my shoulder and cried with me.

You cut the cord, despite being afraid it would hurt me or him and being afraid there would be a lot of blood. As soon as the placenta was delivered, they took our boy to give him his first bath so we could see him better. As soon as the water touched him he shrieked and wailed, and I saw you coil back like a panther about to attack. I held you back, and a minute later they gave him back to me, wrapped up again, with a little cap to cover his head. A few minutes later he began to fuss. I think he was hungry, because that was the first time we saw him do the fish face and twist his head from side to side. I held him up to my breast and helped him latched on just like the book said to: keep his body perpendicular to mine, his chin tilted up, and brush his top lip with my nipple. He seemed to understand right away. It was amazing, strange, a little painful, and wonderful. He was quiet and still for a while, his only motion the movement of his jaw as he sucked and took breaks to gasp for air. He was new to breathing, after all. It probably takes some getting used to after someone else does it for you for nine months. He had only begun his lifelong rhythm of inhaling and exhaling. Isn't it amazing that we were there for that, Santana?

You climbed in next to me in the hospital bed, pressing into my every curve, yet so cautious not to hurt me. I had never been so tired, sweaty, or happy in my life. My face was flushed and my hair was matted, but you told me I looked perfect. I don't know about that, but I do know that our baby, our amazing little boy- I could hardly believe he was finally here! - was as close to perfect as possible. His face was smushed and a little purple like all newborns, which made him look a bit like a newt or something. But he was still beautiful. He wasn't beautiful because of how he looked; he was beautiful because of everything he meant, everything he was, and everything he would grow up to be. He was warm and he felt solid, like a loaf of home-made bread in our arms as we took turns holding him. I don't know what makes my heart feel more full: holding our baby and feeling him pressed warm against my chest after nine months in my belly, or watching you hold him and seeing joyous tears pour down your face, one after the other. You are the proudest woman I know.

As he slept in my arms for the first time, his lips pursed and reopened, sometimes sighing or shuddering, as if the task of dreaming was exhausting. I suppose it is to him. His fingers, fascinatingly tiny, were held in tight fists which occasionally jerked up or out to the side. Though his face was wrinkled and serious and his eyes mere slits, he sometimes raised his eyebrows as if he was questioning everything around him in his sleep. It made me wonder what he was dreaming about. I laid my head back onto the upright bed and you tilted your head onto my shoulder, never taking your eyes off the tiny person in my arms.

"He's a miracle, B," you said. "You were perfect, and so brave. I could never have done that."

I know that isn't true; you would endure everything I had just gone through to meet our son. It hurts more than anyone can imagine, but as I looked at Caleb's grumpy, wrinkled face, I couldn't think of a single thing you or I wouldn't do for him. Not even an hour old and he already had us wrapped around his tiny, curled pinky.

I heard you sniffle and kissed the top of your head as we looked down at our baby boy. The way you turned your face away from me - just a few inches - told me you didn't understand why you were crying. This was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of our life, right? But it's okay, Santana. I was crying too. Happy tears are my favorite kind of tears. I can't remember the last time I cried them without you.

"What should we name him, Mama?" I asked.

"You choose, Mommy. You did all the work!" you said as you wiped your cheek.

You were being so silly. Even though I did the pushing, we made our family together. You cried as hard as I did when we couldn't get pregnant and you were just as ecstatic and terrified when we found out our baby was finally on the way. You're going to call his name out the back door just as often as I will; send him to his room with the stern use of his first and middle name many times; write his name in the collars of his shirts and socks and underwear before he goes to camp.

And then I knew.

"Caleb. It means whole-hearted."

It was a name I had seen on a website you accidentally left up when you were pretending to browse recipes or something. You had tried to be sneaky about it, spending hours looking up names, pretending to go along with my idea of not choosing a name until we met our child. You've always been a planner. The image of you clicking through pages of names, whispering ones that you liked, made me smile from ear to ear. You do the sweetest things when you're nervous and excited.

I grinned as you played the name in your head. Caleb Lopez-Pierce. I liked the rhythm. You did too, because you nodded.

"He needs a middle name," I said, offering to let you choose. You must have found a name you liked at some point. "Something strong."

The name you chose was better than any name I could have imagined: Antonio, after your dad. You growing close to your dad again is just one of the amazing things that has happened for us this year. It made sense that you want our son to be named after that big piece of your heart that shifted back together after so long.

I nodded, feeling close to tears. I could feel your joy and it was overwhelming.

You kissed me on the cheek before returning your gaze to the tiny, sleeping boy in my arms. "Is that your name, little one?" you cooed. "Caleb Antonio Lopez-Pierce?"

I listened to the ring of the name as you spoke it. It sounded so beautiful. It had rhythm and meaning and warmth on your lips, like music orpoetry. As soon as you said it, Caleb jerked and opened his eyes for a fleeting moment, revealing deep brown eyes with a hint of honey in them. Our perfect little boy made a gurgling noise, moving his lips like a fish again before drifting off to sleep. We watched in amazement, still incredulous. Had we really made him?

"I think he said yes," I whispered.

And that's how we came to name our beautiful boy.

"Caleb Antonio Lopez-Pierce," you whispered. We smiled at each other and turned our gaze back to the baby. "Caleb Antonio Lopez-Pierce," you echoed. "That's your name, isn't it?"

After my family and your dad took turns holding him, we rested our heads together on the pillow as we gazed at Caleb. His tiny torso rose and fell with shallow breaths as my eyes fought to stay open. I whispered to him in his sleep, wanting him to know: "We're so happy you're finally here, little one. We have been waiting for you for a long, long time..."

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><p>When we were released from the hospital the next day - for good behavior, I'm sure - you stood next to my wheelchair on the curb. For a second your eyes flashed wild and scared, realizing we were in this alone. But soon they steeled over, determined and strong as you fished out your keys, kissing me on the cheek as you trotted off to get the car. You loaded him in the backseat with the care of loading an armored car. Looking over at me to make sure I was as comfortable as possible, you pulled out of the parking lot as slow as if we were leading a parade. You drove so slow I think it took us three hours to make the two-hour drive back to Columbus.<p>

"Stay right there," you said as we pulled into our driveway. You hopped out of the driver's seat and ran around the passenger side of the car we got just a few months ago. We've had quite the year so far haven't we? A car, a house, a wedding, a baby... and it's only March! Sometimes I worry we're using up all our joy. But then I remember that's not how joy works and I know we still have plenty more to come. Sorrow too, but always joy. We just have to be ready to see it.

You opened the back door and clicked Caleb's car seat out of its base, tucking his blankets around him to ward off the cold before picking the car seat up carefully by the handle. Then you opened my door, offering me your free hand.

"Careful," you said as I stepped down. I know you said it to me, but the nervous smile on your face told me you really meant it for yourself.

You closed the doors of the car and we walked up the path, you holding my arm in one hand and Caleb's car seat in the other. "Are you okay?" you asked as we walked up the stairs.

Of course we were okay, Santana. We've never been better.

"I'm fine," I said with a calm smile. "I remember how to walk."

You set Caleb down carefully next to the door as you fumbled with your keys. I don't know why you were so nervous, sweetheart. It's just a door and it's _our _door and Caleb wouldn't have known the difference if you forgot how to open it. Once the door was unlocked, you opened it a few inches before you stopped and leaned over, unbuckling Caleb and picking him up as if he were made of porcelain.

"Here," you said, placing Caleb into my arms and pushing the door open wide. "Let's show our prince his castle."

As we stepped across the threshold into our entryway, I think we both saw it differently than we had before. Until now, it had been a place of waiting and planning. We brought in all our furniture - well, you did, because I couldn't really help with my big pregnant belly - and set it up and put everything in its new place, anxious to get it done before Caleb arrived. It didn't take us that long. After all, we'd moved from a two-bedroom apartment to a four-bedroom house that really _did _feel like a palace. In fact, it was a little eerie, all those rooms with no furniture. We found a spare bed at a garage sale - a beautiful brass day bed - and put it in the guest room, or "Vickie and Gordon's room," as you called it with a grin, and we set up a little home office in one of the other rooms. And of course there was Caleb's room. But everything still felt a little loose and vacant. I know we'll fill it up quickly, though. Just like you have filled my heart for the past eleven years whenever I felt empty.

You picked up the empty car seat and set it inside, shutting the door behind us. You stood behind me, perching you head on my shoulder and wrapping your arms around me, supporting my arms as they cradled Caleb.

"Welcome home, baby," you murmured.

We smiled down at him. I know we were welcoming him home, but really, I think we were welcoming ourselves. This house has always been about him: waiting for him, preparing for him, dreaming of him. But _we _were the ones who dreamt those dreams, not him. His job was just to exist and grow inside me while we fantasized about the women we hope he will help us become. I'd seen you look out the window at the backyard as the snow melted, and I knew you were dreaming of sandboxes and swings and inflatable pools. I know you felt silly, because you jerked your head towards me with a guilty smile when I walked in. But now that he's here it doesn't seem silly at all. It's okay to plan for those things. We are finally all home.

After a moment, you released your grasp. "Let's show him his room," you suggested.

I nodded and headed for the stairs. You followed me closely, as if you were ready to catch me if I fell. I wasn't going to fall. Yes, I was exhausted and still recovering from giving birth, but my body wasn't failing. In fact, I had never been so surprised by it. I couldn't believe I actually did it. I'd actually given birth! It was all a blur. A painful, sweaty, agonizing blur, but a miraculous one. When I think about it, I just remember flashes and sounds and never-ending waves of pain. I remember the way my fists gripped the rails of the bed as my whole torso seized with contractions; the way my throat rattled as I screamed; the way I panted after it released; the anxious, encouraging phrases my mom murmured to me over and over; and your face, right next to me, determined to be strong, timing each contraction out loud as you blew cool air on my face, encouraging me to breathe and wiping my forehead with washcloth. All those flashes put together don't seem to be a birth, but they are.

I entered the nursery - seafoam green, which is even prettier than the sky blue at our old apartment - and you guided me to the rocking chair, adjusting the footstool because you thought it might make me more comfortable. To be honest, lying down is the most comfortable, but after lying in bed in the hospital for so long, sitting is a nice change. As soon as I sat down, I tilted my head back and yawned. I think Caleb will sleep well in this room. Well, I hope he will. Once he's big enough.

He must have known I was sitting in his nursing chair, because he started to wiggle and fuss, his tiny fist grasping in the air as his mouth opened and his nose wrinkled, coughing out a few of those itty-bitty, pinched newborn cries that sound more cute than distressed. It's funny to hear him cry, because even though the noise was just like any other newborn, I felt a tug in my chest. My left breast was swelling just a little, so I figured he was probably hungry. I pulled up my shirt and unsnapped my nursing bra. He was so hungry I swear he almost reached for me. I guided my nipple to his mouth and he latched on, sucking earnestly.

"Can I get you anything?" you offered. "Chocolate chip pancakes? Coffee?"

"I still can't have coffee," I reminded you. "Unless you want a caffeinated infant too."

I hadn't had any trouble breastfeeding, and I was so relieved. Caleb seemed to be learning how to latch well, though it still hurt. After our difficulty with Caleb's conception, I was glad something came easily.

"Right, duh," you said, embarrassed at your momentary forgetfulness.

"Water would be nice, though," I said. I know you like to have something to do when you are anxious or excited.

"Coming right up."

I could hear you walk downstairs to the kitchen. The house was so quiet compared to the hospital: no beeping, no rolling gurneys, no squeaking sneakers or TVs playing down the hall. Our house was so quiet I could hear you take a glass out of the cabinet. Breathing in the stillness, I gazed down at Caleb as he nursed, rocking ever so slightly. I felt so calm with him in my arms, probably because he looked so peaceful and focused now that he was eating. His eyes were closed, his tiny brow furrowed in concentration. His tiny, ruddy fist was raised midair, as if he had been reaching for my face and forgotten midway.

You came back a minute later with a glass of water that had a wedge of lemon on the side of the glass. You hovered in the door of the nursery, nervous like a deer at the edge of the woods. I looked up and smiled, beckoning you closer. You walked into the room, setting the glass on a small table next to the chair. You knelt by my side, mesmerized by Caleb suckling.

"That's amazing, Britt," you whispered.

I smiled down at Caleb. Nursing was pretty fascinating. Odd, too. I'd never been someone's source of food.

"It's not the most comfortable thing in the world," I admitted. "But it is pretty cool."

You knelt there for a long time, fascinated and enamored with our son. I don't blame you: new life is amazing and you hadn't had as much time with him as I had. And you are so cautious, so wary to dream of anything wonderful, maybe you didn't quite believe there was actually a baby inside me. But now he's here. See, Santana? We can dream something and it becomes real.

I sipped my water. When I shifted Caleb to nurse on the other breast, you snapped out of your daze.

"I'll be right back," you said as you stood up and left the room.

As Caleb nursed, he made these little gurgling, humming sounds. Those sounds are the sounds a person makes when they are truly calm, truly comfortable, truly trusting of someone. Once or twice I've heard you make humming noises in your sleep, and it makes me smile to know I'm the only person who will ever hear you make those noises.

A moment later you walked back to the nursery with your hands behind your back. "I have something for you," you announced with a sneaky, proud smile.

I didn't know what to expect. We already had everything - and I mean absolutely _everything _- we need for the baby. Whenever you got nervous during my pregnancy, you went shopping and came home, proudly showing me the wipe warmer or mobile or lap pillow you'd purchased.

"I read about this thing in one of your baby books. It said that you should keep a safety pin in your bra strap so you remember which side the baby last nursed on to make sure you nurse evenly. But I thought that was really impractical; it seems hard enough to juggle a baby and your clothes without worrying about stabbing him with a pin. So… I got you this instead," you said. You brought your hands out from behind your back and I saw a black velvet box. I gasped.

No one has ever made me feel as spoiled as you have this year.

You walked forward and sat down on the footstool, placing the box on your flattened palm. I looked at you with delighted apprehension. You opened the box. Inside was a ring: a ring with a dozen tiny diamonds laid into a slim silver band.

"But… I already have a ring!" I exclaimed, looking at the ruby ring nestled next to my wedding band on my left hand.

"It's a nursing ring," you explained, taking my free hand and slipping it on my finger right above my wedding band. "You put it on the side he last nursed on."

"Oh, Santana... it's gorgeous!" I breathed. "I love it!" I wiggled my fingers, admiring the ring. "It's perfect," I said as I leaned forward at bit, being careful not to squish Caleb, puckering my lips. You leaned forward and kissed me and I felt the smile on your lips. Doing things for me makes you calmer and happier when you're nervous. But you know what really makes me happy? Having you by my side. The ring is just a bonus.

I broke away and looked back at the ring, sighing happily. "I love having a ring for each of you."

You nodded, smiling. "That's the idea…" you said, "Caleb and I are both in it for life. Plus, I want to keep my baby mama happy," you added with a wink.

Caleb released his hold on my breast as he sank into a deep sleep, letting out a shuddering sigh. As soon as I was sure he wouldn't be rousing himself for more, I pulled my nursing bra up and my shirt down and leaned my head back onto the chair.

"I'm so happy," I sighed, "and completely exhausted."

"You should be," you said. "Your body just went through the most enormous change in its life. It makes me tired just _thinking _about it."

I nodded. I knew you'd say something sweet like that.

"Let's take a nap while we can," I suggested, nodding toward the sleeping baby.

"Good idea," you said. "I read the only way to not always be exhausted is to sleep when the baby sleeps."

Knowing you, you'll be too nervous to sleep. But please sleep, Santana. I promise we'll be okay.

You rose, offering your hand to me. I took it and stood up, trying not to wake Caleb up. We walked into the bedroom and I placed Caleb delicately in the bassinet next to my side of the bed as you pulled back the comforter. I slipped off my shoes and sank down, resting my head on the pillows.

"I missed our bed," I mumbled, eyes already closed as I sank deeper into the haven of home. "That hospital bed just didn't compare."

You leaned over me, smiling and pulling the comforter up to my shoulders in the same way I know I'll watch you tuck our children in, bending over with utmost care as you placed a kiss on my forehead. I love the way your kisses leave a little tingly damp spot on my skin, a reminder that you will be there when I wake up for years and years to come.

You walked around the bed and took off your shoes, slipping into your side of the bed. You scooted towards me, spooning me and reaching for my hand. You lifted your head to look at my face over my shoulder as you felt my ring finger, exploring the feel of the new ring that accompanied the wedding band I was already so used to feeling.

"I love you, S," I said dreamily, eyes still closed. As I sank into sleep, I felt I was sinking into you, too. You will always hold me when I am fading.

"I love you too, B," you murmured, "now more than ever."


	2. Paradise Moments

**A/N: Hi! I'm so excited to be back posting again, and I can't wait for you all to see what I've got in store for our precious little family. Many of you have been following me on Tumblr (lingeringlilies dot tumblr dot com) and your enthusiasm and frequent, often hilarious questions and comments have really motivated me to keep writing. So thanks for that!**

**This chapter marks the rating change from T to M.**

**The original version of this chapter was over 13k words long, so I decided it needed to be split in two. But that means chapter 3 is almost done and you'll definitely get it next weekend! I hope you enjoy. If you do, please let me know.**

**Thanks very much to my betas, TerribleMuriel and FrogsRcool!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Paradise Moments<strong>

I'd been advised to spend the first week of Caleb's life in bed, healing and bonding with him and with you, so that's what I did. Everything in our life has shifted in the most beautiful way; we went from being two to being three, and things have never felt so right. I feel like he's been with us all along, but we just didn't know it.

We had so many visitors that week, the days started to blur together. Most people brought food or gifts or flowers. It felt like another baby shower, only this time the baby was actually there and the shower lasted days and days. I told you when I was getting overwhelmed and you made sure the visits were never longer than half an hour. You were so sweet and jumpy. I only changed a few diapers that week because you were so anxious and it gave you something to do. You told me you'd never changed a diaper before, but you could have fooled me. Caleb told me he likes when you change him best because you sing to him in Spanish as you unstick the flaps, cleaning him before pulling the tabs of the fresh diaper closed, being careful not to brush his umbilical cord stump or let any of the scratchy part of the tab touch his silky belly.

Having so much unstructured time makes you anxious, so you made yourself busy with little tasks like keeping me hydrated, folding Caleb's blankets, and jumping up whenever there was a phone to answer, a dish to wash, or a diaper to change.

But when you actually let yourself sink into the stillness? Oh, Santana, it's perfect. The three of us just lay here, not making a sound. Every so often during sleep, Caleb shudders and sighs, as if overwhelmed or awestruck by something in his infant dreams. It makes me feel like I'm dreaming too. Whatever is so wondrous behind his eyelids is infinitely more fascinating to watch him experience. His dreams are probably beyond our wildest imagination; since he hasn't been on earth very long, he must be dreaming of things only angels can see. The tiniest expression on his face makes both of us beam. Our hearts are tied to him like the tides to the moon.

Your cousin Carlos came to visit a few days after I got out of bed. You were nervous when he called to say he was on his way, but tried not to show it. You had no idea what to expect when he met the child he'd helped us bring into the world. I had no idea what to expect either. Would he feel a connection? Ownership? Regret? Pride? I didn't know what to do, so I kept calling you Mama Santana and giving you little things to do, like getting me a glass of water and a clean blanket for Caleb. When the doorbell rang I said my arms were getting tired - they weren't really - and asked you to hold him while I answered the door. Carlos stepped inside cautiously. He sat a few feet away from you, looking between you and Caleb with a gentle grin on his face. He didn't say much. He just looked happy. I watched both of you, and as the time went on, he asked a few quiet questions; how I was feeling, if Caleb was sleeping well, if Dolores had met him yet. You asked if Carlos wanted to hold him. He gave a little nod, saying only if it was okay with you, and you nodded back. I could already see you were relaxing. Carlos held Caleb for only a minute before Caleb started fussing. Carlos chuckled and said, "He wants his mom," and handed him back to you.

I saw your whole body exhale and smile when he said that. He left a few minutes later, apologizing for not bringing a gift, but promising to build Caleb a sandbox when he got older.

After the visitors died down, things started to stir around the house. It was still wonderful. As I moved around more, I was surprised by how little we talked; we just stayed in contented quiet, making eye contact across the kitchen or living room to smile and silently celebrate what we'd done. Sometimes you brushed my hair or kissed my forehead as we lay in bed, and when I'd start to doze, you'd instinctively pick him up off my chest and cradle him, smile widening as he settled into your arms and inevitably fell asleep.

Caleb's umbilical cord stump fell off after about ten days. As soon as his belly button healed, we celebrated by giving him his first bath in a special dish in the kitchen sink. At first he was startled, eyes wide in alarm as he felt the warm water creep up his sides. It's probably very strange to be put in a bath if you've never had one. But he didn't cry. He peed a little bit, a little stream arcing over his belly for a few seconds. You frowned and laughed at the same time. I giggled too. I'm not sure what we expected. He was too small to smile or laugh or splash. Peeing was probably the best reaction we were going to get.

"Should we change the water?" you whispered, as if you were a little embarrassed for him.

I shook my head. "It's fine. Pee is sterile."

I put my hand on the side of his face to soothe him as you took the baby washcloth and ran it over his legs and around his belly button as if dusting a polished stone. Your hands are so graceful and elegant, I love watching them. After a moment his eyes settled and he looked up at you, opening his mouth just a bit.

"He likes it," you murmured, uncurling his fingers to wash his hands. Your shoulders relaxed and your face brightened. You were relieved and proud.

I nodded and rubbed the side of his cheek with my knuckle before taking my turn with the washcloth. As I did, you snapped several pictures on your phone. I knew you'd be sending them to your parents. Antonio would chuckle and send a smiley face back, and maybe even show one of the residents working on his floor of St. Rita's. But Dolores would look at it, purse her lips, and continue with whatever she had been doing before. When she's uncomfortable with something, her face goes stony and she tries to pretend nothing is happening. It happened when you came out to her, it happened when you told her we were rooming together in college, it happened when you told her we were getting married, and it happened when you told her we were expecting Caleb. But you keep giving her the benefit of the doubt because you hope someday she'll be the mother you always wanted. No matter how much it hurts, I know Dolores has given you one thing: the motivation to be the mother you never had. I know you're going to be a better mother than you can imagine.

We've started to understand his little noises. Sometimes he makes quiet fussy noises, nothing dramatic or shrill or steady, just gurgly and coughing, like he isn't fully invested in crying. Those are easy to soothe. We just rub his back and make hushing noises and bounce him a little, and sometimes you sing. He likes that best of all. If he's somewhere between waking and dreaming, we just put a hand on his tummy, admiring how his itty bitty legs curl up and kick like a frog on its back. After a few seconds he gets quiet and sighs, slipping back into sleep. But sometimes he'll spin into full cries, which means he's hungry or wet or his tummy hurts. That's the worst of all; we can fix hungry or wet, but we can't fix his tummy hurting. But his tummy never hurts for too long and once he snuffles his way into sleep, everything feels warm. Our days are a watercolor of watching him and falling deeper and deeper in love.

I love lying with him on my chest, his fuzzy, soft head tucked just below my chin. Holding him there while he sleeps, feeling his weight with every beat of my heart, is one of my favorite things about being a mom. But I think my absolute favorite thing about being a mom is watching you get to be a mom too, Santana. I've always known that you'd be a good parent, but I didn't realize just how amazing you would be until Caleb was born. Everything you do with him is with so much care and love. The way you sing to him as you rock him, so quiet that half the words are whispered; the way you lean over the crib watching him as he sleeps; the slow, gentle way you place him on the changing table. I love watching you two. Watching you snuggle him, smiling with your eyes closed in the rocking chair. Watching the way you hold him against your shoulder with your hand so protectively behind his head, and the way you crane your neck back to see if he's asleep before smiling even wider and closing your eyes again. And watching you absolutely _beam_ with pride when people say nice things about our boy. We've been together for eleven years, and I have never been as proud of you as I've been these last few weeks.

At first you were perplexed that his body doesn't work like ours. It completely freaked you out that he doesn't poop very much. I couldn't understand why; why would you want _more_ baby poop? But I realized you were concerned for his health when I found you on the computer frantically Googling "_Why isn't my baby pooping?_" As your mouse hovered over a link that said _intestinal blockage_, I massaged the back of your neck with one hand and explained that breast-fed babies don't poop very often. The milk is tailored to them, so there's hardly any waste. How cool is that? Caleb's milk factory always gets it right.

You'd changed him dozens of times and I have no idea why it was _this_ time that it hit you, but when he was about three weeks old it dawned on you that Caleb is a boy. You carried him against your shoulder back to the bedroom where I was reading a magazine in bed.

"Caleb is a boy," you stated from the doorway, eyes shifting.

I looked up. "Yes?" I didn't see what the problem was.

"Can we… can we _raise_ a boy?" Your voice was full of doubt.

I was puzzled. "Of course."

You craned your neck to look at Caleb's face on your shoulder, eyeing him as if he might break in half or bite off your ear. I couldn't tell which. It's funny to see you so afraid of something so small, especially something you made. But then again, your biggest fear is ruining the things you've worked hard for.

"I dunno… we're both girls."

I stared at you, waiting for you to reveal the problem.

"Don't boys need like a… strong male figure or something?"

I rolled my eyes. "You sound like your mom," I muttered, looking back at my magazine. It was a little harsh, but it got my point across.

When you didn't say anything, I continued, eyes still on my magazine as I flipped the page. "Some people think a strong female role model is more important for boys. It teaches them to respect women and become good men."

You chewed your lip. "That's a good point," you said. "Of course I want him to respect women. But... what about when he gets a little older? Like, with sports and stuff?"

Now you were just nay-saying. Sometimes you throw things in your own path just to see if you can jump over them. You really can't help it, but it's strange to watch.

"We can handle sports. It's mostly tying shoes, handing out snacks and watching from the bleachers."

"Okay... but what about when he's even older, talking about girls?"

"Or boys," I said. Caleb hadn't told us if he liked boys or girls yet. He hadn't told us _anything_ about himself, other than he really likes to eat and sleep. And that he doesn't like lying in a wet or dirty diaper. And that he likes my boobs. And that tummy aches are terrible.

Your eyes went wide for second.

I let you chew on the idea that our boy may like boys the way you like girls. I knew you'd just turn it over in your head for a while until you realized it will be fine if he likes boys. And it will be fine if he likes girls. And it will be fine if he likes _people_, just like me.

You looked back at Caleb and he wobbled a bit on your shoulder. He's the wobbliest person in the world, and his wobbling made you giggle, and that made my heart sing. You relaxed as you snuggled him a little tighter to your chest, then put your forehead against his, nuzzling him.

"Caleb's not going to date anyone, _ever_," you decided. "He's going to stay tiny and innocent and perfect forever."

It was your way of saying that you'll think about it later. It's okay, Santana. You have time. He won't be getting married tomorrow.

"Totally," I smiled. "C'mere, baby," I placed the magazine on the nightstand and patted the bed next to me.

"Which one of us are you talking to?" you asked with a playful smile. "You call me baby and you call _him_ baby, too." You nuzzled Caleb again as you walked around the bed. "It's ve-wy con-foo-zing!"

I smiled. "Both my babies," I said, sliding down the pillows.

You lay down on your back, placing Caleb face-down on your chest, head turned toward me. I rolled onto my side, my face resting on your shoulder, gazing at Caleb. I stared into his eyes as they focused on my face. They were dark and shiny and full of wonder.

"I love you, baby and baby," I sighed. I tapped first your nose, then Caleb's. He blinked, a bit startled.

You tilted your head to look down at his face. "He says he loves you too," you murmured.

* * *

><p>One day you were trying to soothe him and it was taking him a while to calm down. You rocked back and forth on your feet, cradling him against your chest as if you wanted to absorb him completely into your body because that's the only way he could possibly understand how much you love him. I know that feeling.<p>

He had just been fed and changed, so he was either sleepy or his tummy hurt. He wrinkled his face and coughed out a few little cries when you held him flat so he was looking up at you. It's so funny the way his tongue curls in his mouth when he cries; it's almost hard to take him seriously because he just looks so cute. But after a minute his face got pink and his hands started to shake because he was just _so_ upset and we couldn't understand him. I wish we could understand him. It would be so much easier to feel like a good mom.

As soon as you held him up on your shoulder again, he rubbed his face back and forth across your chest, still sputtering as a bit of spit or tears or baby snot got wiped onto your shirt. You didn't care at all. I don't even know if you noticed. After a few minutes he calmed down and became the sleepy, contented little boy you brag about to anyone who would listen. "You're such a good baby," you cooed as soon as he sighed against your heart. "Such a good boy..." You rubbed his back and smiled, nuzzling your chin into him with your eyes closed. Sometimes you're surprised that you have the ability to calm him. But I'm not surprised at all. You've calmed me down many times with the same arms that hold and protect our son.

I wonder about the term "good baby." I know people use it to mean a baby who isn't fussy and sleeps well, but I wonder why that's what people think makes a baby good. Of course, I want Caleb to know he was a good baby, but if he was a more difficult baby, we wouldn't love him less. And if he weren't a "good baby," I would hate to think he'd think he is bad.

I don't know what makes us think we are good or bad. Maybe we are just born with a sense of being good. Or maybe not. I mean, do flowers sprout from seeds thinking they are good or bad? I don't think so. Why would people be different? Some people believe we aren't good _or_ bad, that human nature is what they call Tabula Rasa: blank slate. But I don't know if I believe in Tabula Rasa either. All I know is the way I think about, talk about, and treat Caleb matters more than anything. So of course he's a "good baby," but not because he sleeps well and doesn't fuss unless he needs something or feels sick; he's a good baby because he's doing the best he can. Even when he wakes us up every hour all night. Even when he spits up on your shirt right before you have to dash out the door. He's a good baby because he's _ours_, and that's all that matters.

The magic of the first few weeks wore off and things felt more routine. We took turns getting up in the night when he cried, which kind of worked out in your favor since you weren't nursing. I'd have to wake up and feed him even if you were the one who took him out of his bassinet and tried to hush him back to sleep. I got into a routine of breastfeeding; I'd feed him when he was hungry and try to pump a few bottles here and there in case I ever wanted to leave him with you or my mom for a bit. Breastfeeding is really strange. It feels wonderful to bond with him all the time, watching as he stares up at me and sucks, sometimes drifting into sleep. But sometimes it _really_ hurts and I'm sore and swollen a lot of the time. My boobs, while bigger, don't feel sexy at all.

We ate meals together quietly, with Caleb in his carrier on the table in front of us, head slumped over to the side and lips pouting out as he slept. We watched movies and took walks around the neighborhood if it wasn't too cold. You looked so proud and beautiful with him strapped to your chest in the Snuggler. You were like a mama kangaroo, protecting your baby in your front pouch. Only _way_ more beautiful and you didn't have to hop.

"I feel like we don't belong here," you said one day, whispering so I could just hear you over the scuff of our feet on the sidewalk. I didn't know if you were whispering because you didn't want Caleb to hear, or you didn't want the neighbors to hear.

"Why?" I asked. Asking is always the easiest way to figure out why you're nervous. You don't answer me with words usually, but the places you look and the way your body stiffens or twists while you think tells me. If you look at me, you're certain, and if you look away, you're unsure or embarrassed.

"I dunno." You looked around you. Your gaze lingered on a flowerbed across the street. It was still a bit chilly for flowers, but it looked like a gardener had come sometime in the last few days and stuck chrysanthemums and marigolds in the ground into soil that hadn't quite settled yet. I thought maybe you were studying the houses and yards and gardens to see what we were supposed to do with ours. We've never had a garden before.

"We should plant a garden," I suggested, looking around at the gardens for ideas. I could put Caleb in his carrier as I planted, and in the fall he would sit in the dirt while I picked squash and late-blooming tomatoes. Next year maybe he would be toddling around as we planted new sprouts after the last snow had melted. "Caleb can be the gnome," I said. "I bet my mom would even make him a hat if I asked."

You smiled with pursed lips, still keeping your secret inside as you nodded. "Sure. We can get some fertilizer and sprouts when it gets a little warmer."

"That sounds nice," I murmured.

You nodded, looking around you. You were still uneasy.

"Anything else?" I asked.

You shrugged. "I don't think any of these other houses have two moms." You tried to make it sound like something small.

You've come a very long way in ten years. From barely being able to choke out _I love you, _to standing in front of news cameras saying you wanted SB 61 to pass so you could marry me - well, I can't imagine a more beautiful unfolding of a human being. Not even of Caleb. At least not yet.

But sometimes it's still hard to be different. I understand that. It's strange that one day we were living in our little two-bedroom apartment, when Caleb was still just the size of an eggplant in my belly, and the next day we were moving into a house that seems like a mansion, in a neighborhood where everyone has an important job or an image to protect. Big changes like that make us less sure of our footing. You don't always have to be sure of yourself, Santana. I know I'm not always sure of myself. I know I'm your wife and I know I'm a mom, but beyond that I don't know much else for certain.

I took your hand and tried to think of something clever to say about houses with twice as many boobs, but before I did you raised your arm to point at something just up the sidewalk. A woman was taking a baby out of a car seat in her driveway about a hundred yards away from us. She held the baby on her hip as she closed the car door. The baby was a few months older than Caleb; it could hold up its head and its arms weren't jerking around uncontrollably like Caleb's did a lot of the time. Without seeing us, the woman walked to her front door and went inside.

I nodded, understanding you were suggesting we could make friends with someone who also had a baby. That would be nice. We don't know anyone else with a baby. Our friends Elinor and Danielle have two kids from Danielle's first marriage, but they're much older; Eliza is six and Andrew is nine. So it would be great to have a friend with a baby. Then maybe once you go back to work I'll have someone to take walks with during the day.

* * *

><p>You were <em>definitely<em> ready to go back to work when your four-week maternity leave was up. I could feel you almost bouncing as you got ready that first morning, picking out your favorite suit and taking extra time with your makeup. And you looked _super_ sexy in that suit, Santana. I think your brain was excited to go back to lists and deadlines and projects and planning after four weeks of baby mush. But you were also torn. You knelt by the side of the bed to kiss us both goodbye, apologetic as Caleb's fingers curled around your pinky. He didn't really know he was grabbing it, it's just what babies do when something is put in the palm of their hand. Pinkies are especially grabbable. Trust me.

Once you were back at work, everything changed in our house. It made sense. If you change one part of a mobile, it will shift the way the whole mobile turns. You are such a big part of our mobile. There were suddenly thousands of dishes in the sink and hundreds of loads of laundry to be done. I could never quite keep up. But at the same time, there was _nothing_ to do. When Caleb was sleeping in my arms, all I could do was sit. I texted you a lot, but I didn't want to bother you too much. I sent a few pictures throughout the day and we planned dinners. But it was quiet. Sometimes peaceful, sometimes tortuously boring. Time seemed to mutate, too. Sometimes it felt like he was sleeping in my arms for hours, preventing me from getting up to make myself lunch, but when I looked at the clock, he had only been asleep for fifteen minutes. When I left half an hour to get ready for one of our postnatal appointments, it took an hour, and when I left an hour the next time, it took ten minutes.

I stopped bleeding after four weeks, but you insisted we wait until after the six-week postnatal exam before we started having sex again. The exam went well; both Caleb and I passed with flying colors. I could feel you buzzing when you got home that night, but you were trying to hold back. You didn't want to assume. But I knew. I had planned for it. I'd been doing kegels like the doctor recommended, and I had tried touching myself the day before, just to see if it hurt. I didn't make myself come, but it felt fine. It felt _good_, actually. Really good. I was healed and I couldn't tell the difference since before giving birth. I was sensitive because I hadn't been touched in a long time, but not too tender that I didn't enjoy it. Maybe I was a tiny bit looser, but that could have just been my brain playing tricks on me because I knew I had stretched enough for Caleb to fit through. I couldn't fit more fingers inside me than usual, so it was probably just my brain.

When I heard you open the door downstairs, I was a little nervous. Being naked with you is one of my favorite things in the world, but now I look different naked. My stomach isn't tight and flat like it used to be, and my thighs are much bigger and my hips are wider, and my breasts are always changing and my nipples usually hurt because Caleb's latch isn't great. You and I had taken a few baths together since he was born, with Caleb asleep in his carrier on the floor next to the tub, but we hadn't been naked together with the intention of touching each other. I didn't know if my body would work the same. For you or for me.

You came into the bedroom and draped your blazer over the back of the chair. You smiled as you walked over to the bassinet, leaning over to kiss Caleb delicately on the forehead in his sleep. You whispered something in Spanish I couldn't really hear, but I'm pretty sure you said _hey handsome. _Then you turned toward me and your smile grew a little bit impish.

"Hey baby," you grinned, crawling onto the bed, still in your heels as you hitched up your skirt. "How are you?" you asked as you pressed down to kiss me.

"I'm good," I said, smiling into your lips. "I've been thinking about you all day."

I let my lips capture your lower lip, drawing it out and brushing it with my tongue to let you know I was on board. I could feel you were relieved.

"You have, huh?"

I nibbled. "Uh huh."

You trembled a little bit and pulled away up onto your knees.

"What do you want for dinner?" you asked.

I smirked and hooked my finger between the buttons of your shirt and pulled you back down onto me without saying anything.

"Oh," you grinned.

I pulled your button-down out of your skirt as I smiled into our kiss. I really love your body; all its curves, its straight lines, and the way it molds into mine when we make love. I couldn't wait to touch you.

As I started unbuttoning, you pulled away and slid off the bed.

"Where are you going?" I frowned, grabbing your hand. "I was enjoying that!"

You tugged at my arm as you gestured toward the bassinet with your wrist. "I'm going to put him in the nursery," you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, baby," I said, tugging you back. You stumbled a bit at the force.

"But Britt..." you started, eyes going a bit wide.

I rolled mine. "He has no idea what we're doing. He's asleep and I _really_ don't want him to wake up... he cried forever before he finally went down."

You looked back and forth between me and the bassinet, unsure.

"C'mon, if he wakes up he'll just think we're really excited to snuggle."

You bit your lip, unsure if you should giggle or be appalled at the thought of having sex in front of our baby. I gave your arm one last final tug as you glanced over your shoulder at him. Finally you let yourself be pulled back onto the bed.

"Hey," I murmured when you fell with your face next to mine. "I want to get it on with my wife already."

You relaxed a little bit, licking your top lip as you nodded and leaned in to kiss me.

But we weren't simply going to "get it on." This wasn't just for fun or to get off. That's why we were nervous. This was checking in after a long time, seeing if we had changed now that we had Caleb. It wasn't only about our bodies. A big part of it was, but not all.

I undressed you first, showing you that I was ready to try. You were a little shaky and you kept your hands on my face and waist and in my hair as we kissed. Slow, deep, with little hums every now and then. I don't think I will ever get tired of your kisses.

When you were in nothing but your panties, you slid back a bit and started undressing me. I had thought about putting on some sexy lingerie or a slip or at least a lacy cami, but most of those didn't fit and it would have felt forced. We were trying, not forcing. Most of the time when we make love we don't plan it and we're wearing just our regular clothes and underwear. Once we're naked it's always the same anyway. It's just you and me and the sheets and the air. Sometimes a toy or two. But the times we both remember from all our years together as the most special are just you and me.

Your fingers were extra delicate as you lifted my shirt over my head. I saw your eyes dance over my torso and I wondered what you were feeling. Was I turning you on? I really hoped so. You bent forward to kiss across my collarbone as you slid my pajama pants off. I pulled your face up to mine, because I thought maybe your lips would tell me if I was still sexy. But they didn't. You were nervous, so your lips were nervous too. I wanted your hands running over me, but I didn't want to guide them. You'd touch where you wanted to touch. If you wanted to.

Suddenly I was so much more nervous. What if getting yourself off in the shower - like I know you've been doing - is more satisfying for you now? What if we lost one of our most special things together? Even if we didn't lose it, what if it's watered down? The thought made me want to cry and maybe even stop trying altogether.

But just then you started moving your hands over me. Your lips grew more enthusiastic, your breathing halting as you shifted us onto our sides. As your hands ran over my body, it was like I was rediscovering myself. In the same way the water ran over my skin differently in the shower after I gave birth, so did your hands over my breasts and back and stomach. I couldn't decide if my body was a stranger or an old friend. Maybe both. But it felt good. You were holding me and I knew I wasn't going to fall apart. I definitely wanted to keep going.

You were nervous, so I let you lead. But your hands were tentative and you stalled so long before taking off my panties, I knew it wasn't just teasing. This wasn't the teasing kind of sex.

I took off my bra for you and slid your panties off to encourage you. Looking me in the eyes with a little bit of fear, you started nudging my panties down my hip. I lifted up so you could take them off, then kissed you.

"It's okay," I murmured against your lips. "You won't hurt me."

You nodded and swallowed, leaning forward to kiss me again. Then your lips drifted over my jaw, up to my ear - oh god, I love when you lick and suck on my ear - and down my neck. I closed my eyes and let my panting ring around the room. When you heard how excited I was, you started kissing more firmly and drifting lower.

I was wound so tight so quickly; six weeks was a really long time, and it's not like we were having tons of amazing sex when I was hugely pregnant. We had sex, but it was gentle and quick. But now we could get back on track. And god, I wanted you to touch me so bad. Not only did my center feel like it was throbbing, the rest of my body did too. I was very sticky and I was getting so impatient, I finally took your hand and pressed it into my folds. We had to start sometime, right?

We both gasped a little bit. I was shocked just how sensitive I was; how that simple touch of just a few fingers surged all over my body and made me jerk. You were surprised too because you sucked air in like you were trying to fill your lungs before going underwater. Your eyes flew open, searching my face.

"Are you okay?" you whispered.

I leaned forward to capture your lips as I nodded. "It feels really good."

After a moment you started moving your fingers up and down. I rocked into them, breathing hot against your lips. Your fingers have always felt so good and you know exactly how I like to be touched. The only person who can touch me better is me, and that's kind of an unfair comparison, since I have my brain connecting my center and my hand.

You started kissing down my neck and my collarbone again. I arched my head back because I wanted you to kiss me all over, and you rolled me onto my back as you leaned over me. Your hand grew bolder as you kissed my breasts and I pressed you into them. You kissed the swell, but you didn't put your mouth near my nipples. You understood that would have been uncomfortable for me and I'm pretty sure you were terrified that you would accidentally expel some milk. I wouldn't have cared. Just because Caleb drinks it doesn't mean it has to be a mood-killer.

I pushed your head down, down, further still, but then you stiffened and stopped. I gave your head one last little push and you popped your lips off my belly, looking up at me with a sad smile.

"No, baby," you murmured. "We can't."

I frowned at you. You never refused to taste me before. I was completely healed, so it wasn't like it would look scary or anything.

"It's not safe to use my mouth yet," you explained. "Remember?"

I was too turned on to think clearly, but I tried to sift through the million pregnancy, childbirth and baby facts that cluttered my brain. I'm sure at some point someone told me that oral sex was unsafe after birth, but when they told me that I was probably wondering what breastfeeding would feel like or trying to remember to pick up more calcium pills or something. There are way too many things to remember when you become a mom. Sometimes it feels like someone threw all these random things into my brain and stirred it with a spoon.

"Oh right," I said, as if I had only forgotten in the moment. "Okay, go inside me then."

You pursed your lips and looked to the side. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, that kind of desperate nod that means I'm _absolutely sure_ in the moment, even if any other time I might have been less sure. Because of course I had been a little scared, especially before I tried on myself the day before. But right then I was _absolutely sure_ I wanted you inside me, as much as possible.

You started with one finger sliding slowly inside. It felt so good I let out one of those sobbing gasps, the kind that sound like a smile and a cry at the same time. I didn't think it was possible to start feeling like I was throbbing more, but I did. After a few slow pumps as you watched my face like a hawk, I panted out "another."

You bit your lip and added another finger. When it slid inside easily and I arched back a bit, you exhaled quietly, closing your eyes as you bent your head to kiss my hip bone. Your lips placed kiss after kiss on my hip as your fingers slid in and out.

I threaded one hand through your hair at my side as I ran the other through my own. I was starting to whine a bit. I was so close so soon. I guess that happens when you don't have sex for a while. We used to have sex a few times a week, so going this long was forever.

You lifted your head a few times to ask how I was feeling.

"So good," I winced. "So good, S..."

You seemed satisfied you weren't hurting me and started to slide in and out quicker. I was spring loaded and you were pressing into that spot inside me that makes me tighten up _hard_ around your fingers. I never know which magic tap it's going to be that sends me reeling and arching and crying out. But when it hit, it was overwhelming. My eyes slammed closed and my back arched painfully high and my toes curled into the sheets on either side of your body. I hope I didn't pull your hair too hard. You kept going until I could breathe again, and then you slipped your fingers out with a big grin, kissing up my side with slow, gentle kisses.

You relaxed so much after I came down. I was happy and relieved it had gone so well too. You were positively beaming and I just wanted to devour your happiness and keep it with me all the time. I smiled back for a minute, running my hands over you as my breathing evened.

And as soon as it did, I was all too happy to return the favor. Your favorite: my mouth. I missed loving you that way; sinking my face into you and feeling covered in your taste and smell, feeling you quiver as I try to get as close to you as I can. I love it, and it's just an extra bonus that it feels good for you too.

You were so happy I felt your whole body absorb your smile. The way you gasped and panted and sighed felt turned up like the corners of your mouth. I smiled into you as you messed up my hair, pulling your hands back every once in a while, trying not to be too forceful. It reminded me of when we were young; you were so scared to totally let go and let yourself be wild. But you did. Oh, you did.

When you came in my mouth, putting a hand over your own mouth to stifle your cry, I couldn't help but smile into you. I couldn't believe I had been worried you'd prefer getting yourself off in the shower to having sex with me. I've watched you touch yourself before and it's beautiful and _so_ hot, but you don't come as hard or as long and you recover quickly. But in my mouth? Afterwards you're a quivering mess and you curl up into me for a while, content to forget everything but the air and sheets and you and me.

I licked you a few more times and then placed a few kisses up your tummy as I rose to lay next to you and draw you into my arms. Your breath was warm and soft on my collarbone as you came down, shivering once or twice. When you steadied all the way, you pulled your head back with a sleepy, warm smile. Seeing that smile was like seeing the sun rise. It was slow and sparkling and everything was still and damp and fresh.

Over in his bassinet, Caleb rustled a bit like a baby bird in its nest. But he soon settled back into sleep, sighing. I felt you smile, your cheek crinkling up against my shoulder as we lay together, so still and quiet and content as the sun was setting outside. We lay like that until it was almost completely dark and I heard your stomach rumble with hunger.

My dad once told me that paradise is not a place, but a moment in time. I'm sure he didn't come up with that himself, but I always hear his voice in my head when I think of those words. I know our lives will never be perfect, but in that moment, laying in our bed after making love for the first time after our son's birth, I knew we were in a paradise moment.


	3. Pendulum

**Chapter 3: Pendulum**

A/N: As always, thanks to Muriel and FrogsRcool for their incredible beta skills.

* * *

><p>"Happy Mother's Day, mom!" you cheered into the phone. Your voice was tight and strained. "Did you get the flowers I sent?"<p>

I was nervous the second you picked up the phone to call her. Things haven't ever been great between you and Dolores. She's always been distant. She doesn't change, and even though change scares you, it looks so stunning on you when you do. I've watched you grow into someone more beautiful than I ever imagined, but your mom hasn't opened her eyes to see how remarkable you've become. You are always trying to bring her with you. It's a heavy load to try to drag all the time.

This was your first Mother's Day as a mom. My whole body was wound tight, hoping she would acknowledge you as a mom. But I knew it was probably wasted energy. After all, she can barely acknowledge you and I are more than friends most days.

Your voice was falsely cheerful as you talked to her. "I just wanted to call and apologize for cancelling brunch this morning," you said. "Caleb has a cold, so we don't want to take him out for a few days, since he's so little. Hayley's graduation is in a few weeks and we want him to be well enough to make the drive to Wesleyan. But I wanted to invite you over for brunch _here_ instead, with Britt's parents."

There was a pause.

"But mom, it's Mother's Day..." You stopped, realizing that approach was not going to work. "Did you get the picture I sent yesterday?"

You always asked me which pictures to send her, as if picking the right one would change her understanding of our family. Caleb was two months old now and Dolores still hadn't met him. Standing behind you at the desk as you scrolled through our photo library the day before, I didn't know what to say. _All_ the pictures we have of Caleb are perfect; his happy gas-bubble faces, his wrinkled wailing pictures, and of course his sleeping pictures. But Dolores wouldn't see them the way we do.

You switched the phone to your other ear. "Isn't he adorable?" you asked, your voice relaxing a little bit as you smiled and glanced over at our boy.

You had so much hope in your voice I wanted to cry.

You stiffened. "He's my son, too."

There was the letdown, the valve in my heart that broke as I deflated. I looked down at Caleb, making myself busy by wiping his stuffy little nose with the corner of his blanket so you wouldn't see how sad I was for you. He wrinkled his nose, frowned and twisted his head from side to side. He sputtered and coughed, displeased. He hated having his nose wiped.

You pressed on, determined to take an emotional beating. "He really wants to meet his Abuela."

Isn't it funny how we sometimes let babies or animals be the voice for our own wishes? Of course Caleb wasn't begging to meet his Abuela Lopez. He had no idea Abuela Lopez even existed. But the beautiful thing is that he would have loved her. He would have stared up at her, eyes roaming steadily over her face, committing her to memory. He loved everyone: my parents, his Aunt Hayley, your best friend Elinor and her family... he just _loves_. It's a state of being for him. I guess it's the world that believes it's not okay to love everyone. Some people believe too much of what the world thinks.

"He's getting so big," you continued. "I told you we're raising him bilingual, right?"

I don't know if Caleb speaks _any_ language right now, except crying and sighing and making his hungry fish-face. But I love the idea of him speaking two languages. I hope I can learn Spanish so I know what he's saying when he starts to talk.

"Come meet him," you urged. "I want him to hear someone besides me speaking Spanish. You can tell him all the stories your parents used to tell you about Puerto Rico."

I wished I had never suggested inviting my parents over since we weren't taking Caleb out. I was surprised you even considered inviting your mother, but now that she had said no, I knew sitting through the meal with my parents and not yours would be awful. It was your first Mothers' Day as a mom and you had _so_ much to be proud of. But there was no way I or my parents could wipe away that hurt. Even the necklace I bought you with Caleb's name engraved on it wouldn't change how much your mom hurts you.

"But mom… can't we just change the location? You know I'm a good cook," you pressed. You stood up and slunk into the kitchen, lowering your voice so I wouldn't hear. But I still could.

I knew why you were pleading; you only have one mom and you love her, no matter how much she hurts you. She doesn't _want_ to hurt you; she just believes she's right. That connection between two people is amazing, isn't it? Loving someone even when they keep hurting us?

I hope we're never like that with our kids.

"Come see Caleb," you pleaded. "Just for _five_ minutes. You'll fall head over heels in love with him. It's impossible not to." Your voice lightened, thinking about our boy. "He just started smiling at the sound of my voice."

Silence set in over the whole house.

"Do you remember when I first smiled at your voice, mom?" you asked, your words small and pleading.

I didn't need to know what Dolores said, or even what you replied in Spanish. You sighed and after a short, dejected _adios_, hung up.

When you came back to sit next to me on the couch, you tried to pretend the whole conversation hadn't happened. I wish you wouldn't do that, Santana. It's okay to hurt. Pretending feelings aren't there just makes them bigger.

You focused all your attention on Caleb. You lifted his arms, hooking his hands over your index fingers and wiggling his body with little motions of your arms as you made silly faces at him to cover your hurt. Using your sugary-sweet baby-talk voice, you said something in Spanish I didn't understand. It sounded like maybe you were promising him Abuela Lopez would come meet him soon. I hoped you were right.

* * *

><p>We went to see my sister graduate a few weeks later. You were so nervous getting ready for the trip, you packed and repacked the diaper bag and portable crib and suitcases dozens of times. You triple-checked our hotel reservations and took our car in for a safety inspection, even though we had only bought it a few months before. You make yourself crazy sometimes, you know that, right?<p>

That weekend Caleb took lots of naps, nursed like crazy, and stared at everyone who held him, sometimes giving them an inexplicable laugh or grin. He was thrilled about everything. He slept really well in the hotel, which you had been nervous about. His portable crib was a gift from Auntie Elinor, so of course it was comfortable. You and I slept really well too. There's something about being in a hotel that makes hanky-pankying even more fun.

The whole time we were at Hayley's graduation you wanted to hold Caleb and show him off. You cradled him in the crook of your arm during the ceremony, hoping he would sleep or at least be quiet. But he grew restless, wanting to look around him, letting out little baby shrieks whenever the urge hit him. Sometimes he would direct his gaze back at your face for a moment, eyes wide, enthralled by the mere experience of being alive. His head was still too heavy for his tiny neck, and it jerked about as if he were drunk. It made you giggle. Only a few little baby noises echoed through the tent during the ceremony, and afterwards I heard you bend down to him and whisper, "Good boy."

He was getting a little more coordinated. A _little_. Sometimes he tried to stuff his chubby fist in his mouth, but got distracted by the feel of his knuckles on his tongue, rolling it against his skin as he blew spit bubbles, giggling and softly shrieking. He flapped his arms and legs, and sometimes his surprised expression immediately afterwards made me wonder if he had intended to do that. I never grew tired of watching him learn how to move.

Everyone else loved to watch him too. Strangers would peer into his stroller or into his little blanket nest, a hopeful smile spreading across their faces, sometimes cooing when they saw just how tiny he was. Because he really _was_ tiny. I had textbooks in nursing school that weighed more than two-month-old Caleb.

That weekend was also fun because I realized just how proud I am of my sister. We're seven years apart, and even though by the time she could fit into my tap shoes I had given up tap, we've always gotten along. She's very different from me and my parents. She's anxious and driven and takes care of every little detail days before it needs to be done. My parents joke that she was left in a basket on the doorstep. But we look too much alike for people to question if we're sisters or not.

Hayley moved to Columbus to start a job right after graduation. She was so proud of herself for finding a job right away, but she tried not to let that pride bubble up too big because girls aren't supposed to do that, apparently. But she did talk a lot about her job, using her hands as if she were drawing a map in the air that would help me understand. I could understand why she was excited. I mean, _I_ didn't have a job after college. It's probably a lot of pressure to figure everything out. We're lucky Yale Law figured it out for you, and by extension me, because I would have had no idea what to do.

As soon as she was moved into her new apartment, I took her out to lunch. It was the day before she started work and she was a bundle of nerves. I knew she was nervous because she was smiling a lot and tapping her feet and she was way more talkative than usual. And she's pretty talkative, so that's saying something.

I asked her questions about her new job as we ate salads on the patio of one of the only restaurants that actually has a patio in Columbus. It was still a little too cold out, but she was wearing new clothes and her hair was freshly highlighted and I think she wanted to be seen, so I bundled Caleb and myself up as we ate and talked. Mostly what she said sounded like pieces of the job advertisement cut up and pasted back together, and honestly, I could only vaguely understand what she was saying; something about corporate volunteerism and training nonprofits and fundraising and event planning. It kind of sounded like a lot of nonsense, but I'm sure it wasn't. Hayley doesn't like nonsense. It must be that same new-mom-brain thing that's been messing me up. It feels like everything important is stirred together with things that are really not important; the lyrics to Poker Face are sorted into the same category as the fact that our baby could die if he eats honey.

A breeze picked up and Caleb squirmed and started to fuss in his stroller next to the table. He really doesn't like the wind. It confuses him because he can feel it and hear it, but he can't see it and he doesn't know where it's coming from. Before I could even lean towards him, Hayley put her hand on his cheek and made hushing noises.

"It's okay, Caleb," she cooed. "It's okay, baby... It's just a little wind."

The breeze died down and with his eyes still closed, Caleb scrunched up his nose for a second and let out a huge sigh before settling back into sleep.

I knew my sister would be a fantastic aunt.

I tried to ask a few questions that sounded smart and like I understood what she was talking about, because I really did care and I wanted her to know I cared. But I had no idea what corporate volunteerism was or how she could be assisting in developing project management teams at age twenty-two. I guess she learned a lot at Wesleyan that I didn't learn in college. As she talked, I felt like my face was plastered into a weird smile as I nodded and squinted like I was concentrating on understanding. But I understood even less.

When she was done telling me about her job and her new roommates, she asked a few questions about me. I hadn't noticed that she wasn't asking about me, because I really didn't have much to say.

"Um... I stay with him all day," I shrugged. "We're kind of a package. He needs me, you know," I said, pointing to my boobs that were feeling a little full.

My sister let out a funny giggle, like she wasn't sure if it was a joke. "What do you guys do all day?" she asked with a smile.

I tried to think what we did all day. I knew what Caleb did; he nursed and slept and cried and stared at everything as if it were the most incredible thing in the world. He had started laughing at some things too. If I puffed up my cheeks like a monkey and then let the air out with a "pop" he would giggle and flap his arms like a clumsy wizard and shriek a little bit.

But I didn't really know what I _did_ all day. I guess lots of little things that are only interesting the first few times around, like diapers and laundry and dishes. I sat in the rocking chair with him a lot, looking out the window trying to get him to sleep. I would imagine what you were doing; probably sitting in a very important meeting or talking on the phone using a lot of hand gestures and your tight, in-charge voice. Or sitting in court with a client in a fur coat. But the last thing was silly; you didn't litigate at Schneider and Hembraugh Consulting. You told me that mostly you sat in front of your computer going over contracts. While you were doing that, I watched a lot of TV, but Caleb didn't sleep as well with the sound on, so I got used to watching with subtitles. That got boring quickly, because daytime shows aren't nearly as good as prime time, and by the time eight o'clock rolls around, you're usually home and I get to watch you hold him and sing and smile with the light of a million stars. That's better than any TV show that will ever exist.

"I do stuff around the house," I said, shrugging again. "We nap and sometimes go for walks if it's not too cold. If it's windy he gets upset, so I have to cover him with a blanket."

My sister bit her lip and nodded. I hope she didn't think my life was boring. Was my life boring?

"We're taking him on another little trip soon," I offered, perking up a bit. I knew that trip was going to be fun. I smiled, remembering one day about two months before Caleb was born...

* * *

><p><em>You came home and sorted through the mail like usual. You held one letter up a little longer than the rest. I was seven months pregnant and the marriage equality bill had <em>_just__ been signed. I was in full wedding-planning mode and we were still getting used to the feel of our engagement rings; the lab diamond I had given you years before was finally unstrung from your necklace and sitting on your finger, and the perfect ruby you gave me the day the bill passed was sitting on my hand. It sparkled when I made the slightest movement._

_The letter you held up was on white and red stationary. You came to sit beside me on the couch and I could see tears sparkling in the corners of your eyes. You handed me the letter as you swallowed, trying to unstick your throat so you could talk. I was scared at first, because I thought maybe it was something terrible, like a death notice or something. But then I recognized the stationary was from McKinley, and I wasn't so worried. I know we had some good times in high school, but I couldn't understand why getting a letter from our alma mater would make you cry. But then I saw who it was addressed to: The Lopez-Pierce Family. Of course that made you cry. We'd never gotten a letter addressed that way. _

_I smiled at you and kissed the crinkle of your eye where the tears were gathering as I tore open the letter. I unfolded the paper and saw it was an invitation to our ten-year reunion. _

_Ten years sure went by quickly. _

_The reunion was being held in Lima a few months after our baby was due. Quinn was on the organizing committee. At the bottom of the generic letter, her round, flourished cursive urged us to join her, saying she hoped we could catch up.._

_I hadn't thought about Quinn for a long time. I wondered what her life was like. Was she married? Did she have kids? Was she as happy as we were? _

_I showed you the paper and your face changed into a nervous smile. _

"_Do you want to go?" you asked._

_It was silly question; of _course_ I wanted to go to our reunion. I nodded and as I did, Caleb nudged a little in my belly. We didn't know his name was Caleb yet and we didn't even know he was a boy, but we knew that he would be born a few months before the reunion. _

"_Are you sure?" you asked, eyes flickering down to my stomach._

_I nodded again and picked up your hand, placing it on my belly. "Baby Pineapple wants to go too."_

_You nodded, looking me in the eyes. "You should email Quinn and see if she wants help," you suggested._

_I was surprised, but I guess I shouldn't have been. Since my position as a private hospice nurse was ending soon, it made sense that you wanted me to find things to do. When I don't have things to do, sometimes I get sad. And when I get sad, I kind of shut down. And when I shut down, I lose everything._

_So I nodded and tucked the paper into my book, reminding myself to email Quinn the next day while you were at work._

* * *

><p>As soon as Hayley and I were done with lunch, I felt this weird tingle. Well, not really a tingle, but a sudden understanding that Caleb was about to wake up and want <em>his<em> lunch. I pulled a blanket out from the bottom of his stroller and lay it in my lap. When he started fussing a few moments later, Hayley reached over and picked him up, putting him on her shoulder. As he curled into her like a half-moon, she tried to calm him down, hushing and murmuring in his ear as she rubbed his back. But he just got louder, rubbing his face back and forth against her shirt as he sputtered.

I gave Hayley an apologetic smile. "He wants to eat," I said.

She looked at me, a bit perplexed about how I knew, but handed him over.

"After he eats he'll want you to hold him, I'm sure," I said, winking at her.

I draped the blanket over my chest and put him under my shirt. My sister looked around, unsure how she felt about me nursing in public. But it's not like my boob was hanging out. It was covered. And so what if it _was_ hanging out? It's just a boob. Guys are allowed to show their boobs and no one cares. They don't even have a good reason like nursing.

As soon as I unsnapped my nursing bra he latched on enthusiastically. But his latch wasn't great; he was so hungry he didn't wait for me to position him well. I tried to adjust him, but it still hurt. I grimaced a little and tried to distract myself. I only have to get through his breastfeeding phase. A year tops. Right?

My sister asked a few questions about the reunion, but I was sure it wasn't that interesting to her. She had just graduated McKinley four years before, and I think she was trying to stay as far away from that place as possible. She hated high school because she got teased for being a teacher's pet. Not many people like to learn as much as she does. Well, you always have, but you were very secret about it in high school.

I paid the bill and gave my sister a big hug, wishing her luck on her first day of work, making her promise to call me when she got home.

But she didn't call the next night, so after her second day of work, I called her to ask how things were going. She sounded exhausted, which I guess is to be expected. Working eight hours after just having a few classes during the day is a shock. Going back to work while I was pregnant was beyond draining. So I didn't worry too much when she said she was tired and confused. That's kind of how work is. But she sounded happy, so I was happy. I'm really glad she lives nearby now. Maybe we'll get to be closer now that we're both grownups.

* * *

><p>One day I was getting out of the shower and saw myself in the mirror. I looked so strange. I mean, obviously I'd seen myself in the mirror since Caleb was born. Sometimes I'd hold him up to it and we'd look in the mirror together, pressing our cheeks together, watching as he smiled and laughed at the adorable baby grinning back at him. I loved looking in the mirror with him and I could do it for hours.<p>

But this time when I saw myself, I got spooked. Who _was_ that staring back at me? She had my same dark wet hair and my same eye shape and skin tone. But everything else about her was distorted. Her legs were shorter and her hips swelled out to the side and her belly button drooped down. A few jagged purple stretch marks framed her waist and her boobs hung lower and seemed so weighted. And her face was the strangest of all; the longer I looked, the more I could only see the bone structure beneath, making her eyes appear hollow and her skin like wax paper. I couldn't even blink. I held my hand up to my cheek and I saw her do the same, but it was almost like I didn't feel my fingers on my skin. I turned to the side and traced over the faded purple marks on my once-toned stomach, and the girl in the mirror did the same. I don't even remember having thoughts; I just remember feeling stuck, like I couldn't break the tie between the girl I was looking at and myself. Finally Caleb started fussing in the nursery and I snapped out of my trance, quickly wrapping a towel around me, relieved he had woken up and restarted time.

* * *

><p>Hayley started calling me pretty much every day on her way home, sometimes grumbling about her boss or sighing heavily. It was nice to have those phone calls to look forward to in addition to your texts and calls throughout the day. I'd make sure Caleb was nursing or playing on his little mat with the mobile hanging above so I could talk. But Hayley was starting to sound sad. A few times there was a moment of silence in our conversation, which is unlike her. I invited her over for dinner about once a week, and she was always happy to come over. She is absolutely enamored with Caleb and beyond that, she really looks up to you. She was twelve the first time you gave her a Christmas present: a pair of earrings you just picked up randomly in the drug store. But she wore them constantly when you weren't around and sometimes I think she wished you were her big sister instead of me. You two speak the same language. It didn't hurt my feelings. You'd be a pretty great big sister.<p>

After a month or so Hayley started calling me once in a while on her lunch breaks, whimpering that her boss was such a bitch and that she wanted to quit. I didn't really know what to say, and I felt terrible when I had to hang up and take care of Caleb. But at the same time I was glad Caleb needed me because I had no idea what to tell her. I'd never had a boss that made me cry like Hayley's did.

One day she was especially sad and I knew Caleb was about to wake up - sometimes moms just know these things - and I wanted to calm her down before I had to hang up, so I blurted out, "Would you like to be Caleb's first babysitter?"

I could hear her startle out of her tears. "Yes!" she gasped. "Of course! When?"

I realized I should have thought it through and probably talked to you before I offered, but I couldn't back out now. It made her so happy and I was really glad she had stopped crying. "Um... how about Saturday night?"

Now all I had to do was figure out how to convince you.

That proved to be relatively easy. All I had to do was whisper in your ear a few days before about how we needed a date night and Caleb needed to get used to being taken care of by people besides you and me. Your reaction was kind of funny. On the one hand, you smiled at the thought of date night, but your eyes also went wide at the thought of leaving Caleb alone with anyone but me. But after a few slow kisses you warmed to the idea. I pumped a couple extra bottles over the next few days and you put together an emergency supply bag that would make NASA proud.

"Have a good time with Aunt Hayley, Bug," you cooed as you kissed Caleb on the forehead. His head jerked back and forth a little, even at the light pressure. At four months he was still learning to hold his head up on his own and he was very wobbly. You handed him to my sister, who instantly started fawning over him, making nonsense noises and kissing all over his face and head. He laughed at her and wobbled forward, leaning onto her collarbone. He was happy. He likes Hayley a lot.

"Here's all his equipment and extra parts," you said, setting a giant diaper bag and car seat in her entryway. You rattled through pages of printed instructions for changing him and feeding him, all of which Hayley knew already. She put her hand on Caleb's back and shot me an amused look as you recited which hospital he was to be taken to if there was an emergency. I was glad my sister knew better than to interrupt. Your speech was for your own security, not Caleb's.

Finally you reached the end of your speech. "Anyway, thanks for giving Britt and me the night off. We haven't had a date in months."

"Anytime!" my sister chirped, shaking her head to make sure she knew how much she loved taking care of him. "I need lots of time with him to make sure I'm his favorite aunt."

I giggled a little, because my sister is his only _real_ aunt. But he does have lots of aunties; your best friend Elinor and her partner Danielle, my friend Nicole, and our college friends Kelsey and Sasha.

"We're just going to dinner, maybe a movie. Our phones are on, and please call if you have any questions. Literally anything."

I took you by the hand, squeezing it, reminding you that my sister would be fine watching our boy for a little while. "See you in a few hours!" I called as I dragged you down the walkway to the car.

"Call if you need anything!" you repeated. Finally you climbed in the driver's seat, shut the door and buckled your seatbelt. "So!" you sighed with a smile. "Where do you want to go?" You looked happy and braced for adventure. It was sweet.

I gave you a tired smile. "Is it bad that I just want to stay in?" I didn't hide my hint of guilt that I couldn't match your energy and excitement for our first real date night in months.

"Not at all," you smiled. You lowered your voice as if you were about to say something super naughty. "I haven't had you all to myself in a long time."

I smiled, but it felt like kind of a wince. I know you wanted to have sex. But I was just so tired... Maybe a good meal would fuel me. "Will you cook my favorite chicken recipe?" I said with a pleading, tired smile.

"The one that made you gag when you were pregnant?" you chuckled.

"All chicken made me gag when I was pregnant," I assured.

"True. Sounds like a plan. Chicken, veggies, ice cream, and if we're feeling _really_ naughty, some sparkling apple juice." You gave me a wink.

"I kinda feel like a glass of wine," I mused as we pulled away from the curb. "One would be okay if I pump afterwards."

"You got it, hot mama."

"Just don't call me a MILF," I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, but you _are_ a MILF," you said, your eyes flashing.

An hour and a half later, we lay on the couch, stomachs satisfied, enjoying the quiet. Our plates sat on the coffee table. The house was practically silent. It was weird.

"That was tasty," I murmured. "Thanks for cooking."

"No problem," you smiled. "You're my tasty inspiration." You leaned in for a kiss, meeting my lips.

You hummed, enjoying the feel of my mouth as you slid your tongue between my lips and teeth. You sighed into the kiss, wrapping your arms around me. I caressed your waist with timid hands as you leaned towards me, pressing me down against the arm of the sofa. I really like kissing you. Your lips are very soft and wet and you know just when to be gentle and when to suck and nip. But this time it felt a little hollow. Maybe it was because I was still tired. The good food probably made me tired. Because your kisses are never hollow. Sometimes quick or light, but never hollow.

You broke away, a gleam in your eye.

"Let's go to the bedroom," you purred.

I sat up and nodded, following you upstairs as I tried to muster some energy. This was the point of date night, right? We lay down, resuming our kiss. I placed my hand over your heart as we embraced, side by side. You were quickly ready to go.

"God, I want you so bad, B," you panted, sliding a hand up my shirt. "You look so hot tonight."

I let out a half chuckle, eyes darting to the wall. There was no way I looked hot. I was wearing jeans and a plain purple tshirt that had a few drops of dried spitup on the sleeve. My hair was up in a messy ponytail and I hadn't put on makeup all week.

You wrapped one hand around the place where my waist used to dip and wiggled the fingers of your other hand under my nursing bra, feeling the fullness that was starting to ache a little. You groaned and it made me really nervous because I felt like a car that wouldn't start.

"You are definitely the most fuckable mom I know," you whispered in my ear. It was that hot, trembling whisper that usually revved me up. I closed my eyes, waiting to feel the shivers that would make me smile. But they didn't come. You slid your hand out of my bra and down my stomach and underneath the waistband of my pants. I froze and opened my mouth, but my words got stuck. They always do that when I know they can hurt you. So I just kind of went stiff.

You went stiff too. "What is it?" you asked.

I glanced sideways. "I… I'm not… feeling…" I trailed off because I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how it was possible to see you - your beautiful, loving, sexy self - and not want to make love. I _wanted_ to want to.

"Oh. That's… that's okay," you stammered, removing your hand and pulling back a few inches. You were embarrassed because you thought you were reading my body wrong. "You should just say something."

"But I feel bad... I just… I'm sorry." I exhaled, frustrated with myself. I really was sorry.

"It's okay, B," you reassured, running your hand up and down my arm. "We're both exhausted… it's okay."

"I guess…" I looked sideways again. "I dunno…"

You paused, searching me. I kept my gaze on the far wall. I didn't want you to figure out something before I did. I was supposed to understand myself.

"Are you worried about how you look?"

That was probably part of it. My stomach was still stretched and lumpy and my thighs were bigger than ever and my boobs had never felt less sexy. But I didn't say it out loud.

"...Britt, I have _no_ complaints. I love your new curves." You pressed into me again, showing me you meant what you said.

I remembered the girl I saw in the mirror a week before. She kind of looked like me, but her body wasn't the same one you were used to seeing. Suddenly I didn't want to be pressed against you. Not if I looked like that. I couldn't be intimate with you if I looked like someone else. Not someone with inflated hips and swollen breasts and stretch marks.

"What about the stretch marks?" I mumbled.

"What stretch marks?" you asked, your tone a little too bright and surprised for me to believe you hadn't seen.

"S," I warned.

You dropped the game. "I didn't notice until you pointed them out."

I bit my lip and frowned as I stared at the ceiling for a minute. I stared so hard little pinpoints of color started to move along the ridges of the paint.

"Is there something else going on?" you asked, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"I dunno." I couldn't tell if I was deep in thought or somewhere else entirely. Probably both. I wasn't there, though. My mind was not in bed with you.

"Okay, well…" your gaze darted about, suddenly nervous. "Let's be sure to talk about feelings as they come up."

I snapped back into bed with you. Five years ago I would have just brushed the comment off as you growing and changing, but I knew exactly why you said those words in that moment.

When you were in your final year of law school I got really sick and almost ruined everything. Even thinking about it now, my stomach tightens up and I want to hold you and not let go until I feel you relax in my arms. I made a promise to you that if my depression returned, we'd work through it together. I take that promise as seriously as I take my wedding vows. But still, you always get nervous when I'm sad, even if it's just for a little while over something normal. When we were having trouble with Caleb's conception, I could feel you were almost sick with worry.

So I had to do something to ease your anxiety. "Why, Santana Lopez, are you asking _me_ to talk about feelings?" I teased.

You smiled. Making you smile when you're upset or scared has always worked. This time was no exception. It was like watching you take off your heels at the end of a long work day; your shoulders slid down and your smile spread and I felt closer to you than when you just walk in the door in your fancy lawyer suit. Barefoot Santana is mine.

"Lopez-_Pierce_," you corrected, kissing me on the cheek, as if sealing the conversation about why we weren't having sex. "What shall we do instead?"

I thought about all the things we used to do on date nights before Caleb was born. We would go out to dinner, watch a movie, and once in a while we would go dancing. But we had already eaten, I had no energy for dancing, and if we started a movie I would fall asleep a few minutes into it.

"I kind of just want to sleep," I admitted.

You gave me a sympathetic smile and pulled up the blanket at the foot of the bed, tucking it around us.

"Will you go get Caleb in an hour?" I asked, my voice already heavy with sleep.

You nodded into my shoulder and snuggled against me, wrapping your arms around my waist. I just lay there.

"Love you, B," you murmured, giving me a squeeze.

"Love you, too…" I mumbled.

* * *

><p>I miss being pregnant. I mean, I don't miss being sick or exhausted or my back hurting or not being able to sleep. But I miss having something to look forward to, something that makes me tingle with excitement and a little bit of fear. Now my days are all the same. They stretch on forever, and if it weren't for the patterns of light on the carpet and the predictable swelling of my breasts every few hours, I wouldn't have any concept of time.<p>

I don't know why, but sometimes I'll be holding our baby and just want to cry. I don't have anything else to do, so I just cry. But as soon as I curl up in bed, I feel so, _so_ selfish and ungrateful. We have more than I could ever dream of having at our age. A house, security, a solid marriage, and the most beautiful baby I've ever seen. We have every piece of the fairy tale. So why don't I feel happily ever after? I just feel so sad, like maybe other people could appreciate this life more than I can. I don't want to give in to my tears and be so selfish, but I know that if I don't feel my feelings, they get bigger and then I feel out of control when they rise to the surface and pop like lava bubbles. So I just have to cry sometimes, even if I don't have a reason. I'm sorry.

I never slept deeply, but not because of Caleb. When he slept, he slept for at least two hours before needing to be changed or fed or comforted or entertained. I just drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes I didn't know if it was your voice or mine that kept reassuring me, "We just need to keep going until he starts sleeping through the night. Then things will be better." So my days became about making it through.

Caleb was wailing in his room by the time I was able to get out of bed one afternoon. As I sighed and opened the door, he looked up at me, distraught and angry I had left him for so long, as if his crib was the worst place in the world. I picked him up, holding him on my shoulder as I transferred him to the changing table, his cries not dying down in the least. As I unsnapped his baby pants, his fists shook in utter rage as he held them over his face, which had turned pink. He kicked his legs until he ground them into the table and used them to try to roll himself over. He hadn't been able to roll over yet, but he was close. I struggled against him; he's not very strong, but he's so wiggly and determined and I was just beyond tired. I could still change him, but I struggled to get his little pants back on. Those snaps make everything harder.

I held him in the crook of my arm and tried to feed him, but he turned his head away, furious at the suggestion. I kept offering him a pacifier, but after it fell out of his mouth for the fifth time, I stopped putting it back in. He was just going to cry until I figured out what was wrong or he exhausted himself. I'm clearly a terrible mother.

Sometimes when he's upset you sing to him and he quiets down, so I decided to try that.

"_Hush little baby, don't say a word, mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird…"_

He let out a few more furious cries but quieted, only putting half the effort into his wailing.

"_And if that mockingbird don't sing, mama's gonna buy you a golden ring..."_

He steadied enough that I slipped the pacifier in his mouth and he latched on.

"_And if that golden ring turns brass, mama's gonna buy you a looking glass..."_

He sucked in earnest now, as if riveted by the tale I was weaving. His face started to return to its normal color as he studied me intently while I kept singing, trying to make the same sweet whispering notes you make when you sing him lullabies.

"_And if that looking glass gets broke, mama's gonna buy you…"_

I couldn't remember what came next. But my singing was calming him down, so I said the first thing in my mind that kind of rhymed.

"… _an artichoke."_

I paused for just a second and Caleb's eyes bored up at me, as if he was anxious to hear what could be wrong with the artichoke.

"_And if that artichoke tastes gross, mama's gonna buy you…"_

I could not think of a single thing that rhymed with gross. I faltered, and in that moment, the pacifier fell out of Caleb's mouth and he resumed wailing. I tried to sing the verses about the billy goat and the dog named Rover, but he didn't stop screaming and I couldn't figure out what verse came right before the end; _you'll still be the sweetest little baby in town_...

So I just sat in the rocking chair with him, feeling defeated and limp as I rubbed his back and patted his butt. I rocked and rocked with him and he just cried. He screamed so loud my ears started ringing. He cried and cried and cried and eventually I started crying too. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with him and I was getting so frustrated I wanted to just put him in the crib and run out of the house. But that would make me an even worse mother, so I just sat there.

When I was crying so hard I was almost shaking, he fell asleep. The sun had set and the light switch was all the way across the room so I just sat in the dark for what seemed like forever. I kept my crying as quiet as I could so I wouldn't wake him up.

I think life is like a giant pendulum. We swing back and forth from one extreme to another, always trying to find balance, truth, and harmony. But we never really get there, do we? Sometimes we pass it, and if we're lucky we can reach out and touch it. But unless we stop ticking, we will always swing.

The problem is that, unlike clocks, pendulums in real life aren't predictable.


	4. Cradle and All

**Chapter 4: Cradle and All**

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><p>Thanks so much to my betas, terriblemuriel and FrogsRcool!<p>

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><p>You leaned into the backseat of the car as you unlocked Caleb's car seat from its holder. I hovered next to the side of the car where it was parked in front of your parents' house, letting you be in control. You needed control right now.<p>

Then you paused. "Should we take the car seat in?" you asked.

I shrugged. It didn't really matter.

"I don't think we should," you said, turning back towards the car. "It'll be easier in case..."

You trailed off, not letting your hope actually rise to the surface.

_In case she wants to hold him_.

I think that was what you wanted most of all: to see your mom holding him. And if you really let yourself wish hard, you wanted to see her holding him and _smiling_. Because if she was smiling, she was happy, and maybe, _maybe_ it meant she loved our baby. And if she loved our baby, then maybe someday she could love you too, in a way you could understand.

You tossed the car seat back in the car and shut the door, holding Caleb under his butt against your chest with one arm. He was almost big enough to put on your hip, but not quite.

As we walked up the walkway, your steps slowed.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" you asked. "Ambushing her like this?"

I had asked the same question about ten times on the drive up from Columbus, but you had been angry and therefore confident in your responses.

_I'm just tired of her always getting her way_, you had explained as your foot pressed harder on the accelerator. _She's acting like a child. Seriously, Caleb has better manners than her most of the time_, you muttered. So I shrugged and went along with your plans to ambush her with our son's adorableness.

But now that we were actually on your mother's doorstep you were much less confident. I rubbed your arm and tried to think of something to say like, _no matter what we have each other and we have Caleb_, or _if she doesn't love our son she's crazy_, or _you have every right to be mad at your mom_. But my hand on your arm could show you what I meant without having to choose words that could be wrong. I feel like lately I'm always wrong, and if I said the wrong thing right now this whole visit could go badly. I didn't want to mess anything up. Our life is messy enough .

Your mother's face is stony most of the time. But still, I wasn't surprised that she was flustered for a moment when she saw the three of us on her doorstep. She's not used to being confronted.

"Hi mom," you said, your voice reinforced as you snuggled Caleb closer to you. "I know dad's at work, but we're in town for our ten year reunion and we thought we'd bring Caleb by to meet his grandma."

Dolores was still setting her face into that hard-to-read expression, but I saw her blink quickly a few times, eyelids fluttering as she decided how to react.

"Well," she responded, glancing around the yard as if more lesbians with babies might pop out and surprise her, "I suppose you can come in."

I know it was basic courtesy on her part - she couldn't very well get away with not inviting her own daughter inside - but it felt like a little victory.

You pushed the door open further and stepped inside. You didn't mean to be bossy, but you caught my eye and nodded towards a chair a few feet from the couch. That was usually where your mother sat. It seemed a little rude, but I was letting you call the shots, so I sat down, perched forward a little bit with my hands in my lap. You sat on the far end of the couch, still snuggling Caleb, turned towards me and watching your mother as she eyed the spot on the couch you had left.

"So how have you been, mom?" you asked, adjusting Caleb's legs so they weren't squished in your lap. He was busy looking around, twisting his head from side to side against your chest, trying to see what was behind him. New places are fascinating to him.

Dolores looked back and forth between us before taking the seat you had selected for her. I know you chose that seat between us for her on purpose; you were trying to corner her without making it seem intentional. The thing is, when people are cornered, they always assume it is intentional.

"I've been okay," Dolores said, studying your face with uncertainty. "The insurance companies are giving me grief again, though..." she began. She's had the same job in hospital administration since I met you. She's always hated it.

"Which company is it this month, mom?" you asked. You already sounded annoyed, which probably wasn't smart. But then again, maybe it was. You were showing her you knew how tiresome something could be.

Dolores sighed, then took a breath to launch into her complaint. "Medicare has some new authorization policy that just makes no sense..." She went into a little more detail, but I didn't pay attention. I just watched the way you were looking at her but all your attention - your whole ear and body - was tuned to Caleb. You rubbed his back and patted his butt and once even kissed his fuzzy head. Everything about you said, _Look, mom, isn't he perfect?_

The great thing about babies is that they don't need an introduction to be part of a conversation. When I could see you take a breath to say something that would end your mother's whining, Caleb turned his head toward Dolores and let out a gleeful shriek as he jerked his arms and legs in delight.

And at that Dolores actually let out a giggle. It was the weirdest sound. I don't think I've ever heard your mother giggle. It sounded dusty and hoarse from lack of use.

Your face lit up like a Christmas tree at that sound, but you quickly muted it and looked down at Caleb.

"This is Caleb," you said, chest swelling with pride as you smiled at him. "He's five months old today."

Your mother turned her head towards me for a moment, unsure. I just gave her a steady smile back. "He told us he wanted to celebrate turning five months old by meeting you," I offered.

You sat Caleb on your thighs, holding him under his arms and smiling down at him as you joined my game. "Isn't that right, Caleb?" you smiled. "You said, 'Mama, where did you come from?' and I said 'I came from Abuela Lopez!' and you said 'Mama, ya quiero conocer Abuela Lopez!'" You wiggled him from side to side as he put his knuckles in his mouth and smiled around them.

I was surprised you went so far with the game, but for once the silence around Dolores didn't feel sickening. Your mother quietly cleared her throat and turned to me again.

"Is he a good baby, Brittany?" Dolores asked.

"He's a very good baby," I assured, dipping my head with a smile. I always talk quietly around your mom. I don't know why. She has a very commanding presence. "Especially for Santana. She has lots of mommy magic."

Dolores pursed her lips and looked back at you. She still didn't think of you as a parent yet.

You kept your attention on Caleb, opening your eyes wide and smiling as you wiggled him some more, grinning wider as he grinned back and wobbled. I was glad he was in a playful mood. Your mom just watched you play with him. After a moment, you turned to her with a smile. "Want to hold him?" you asked. You asked with such confidence and such a beautiful smile that it wasn't really a question. He was already in her arms by the time her face reacted, again blinking a few times as her eyes darted back and forth between us.

She held him on the edge of her lap, looking him up and down as he studied her face, suddenly serious. She didn't hold him close to her chest the way my mom does or the way your dad and Hayley and Elinor and Danielle and everyone else in his family does. But she was holding him and she wasn't being mean. Your face was so hesitantly hopeful. You were smiling that nervous smile that could turn into a look of panic all too quickly.

Caleb just stared for a minute. I felt my stomach slowly tighten, hoping he would do something cute like hold his hands together in front of him and smile - he's been doing that a lot lately - or bounce and giggle. But he just stared at Dolores with wide eyes, his mouth open, his gaze wandering over her smile lines and the silver streaks in her hair. He was in absolute awe. After about ten seconds, he clapped his hands and leaned forward, reaching for her face. He gave her a goofy grin and stuck his fingers in her mouth, pulling her close to him. She resisted a little, but a tiny smile curled up on each side of his fingers. But she quickly pushed it away. As she did, Caleb's smile faded too and he pulled his hand away. He looked over at me, suddenly nervous, as if he were about to cry. Then he looked at you and his face scrunched up, a telltale sign he was about to wail.

Oh, Caleb.

I think he knew how important this was to you and it was too much pressure for him. He leaned towards you, arms outstretched as he started to cry, wriggling out of Dolores' grasp.

Dolores sat him upright again in her lap and then held him towards me. I shook my head a little and nodded towards you. "He wants his mama."

Dolores blinked at me a few times as you took Caleb from her and cradled him to your chest. He let a few more cries waver through the room as he bunched your shirt in his fist, rubbing his face into you.

Now the lack of conversation was painful. Doubly so with Caleb's crying.

To fill the space, you started telling your mom all about Caleb's little quirks: how he hates the wind, how he likes when someone sings to him, how he loves to lie on his tummy, grinning up at you as you do your situps and leg lifts while he tries to crawl. But that just made the energy in the room worse. I watched your mom fidget and I started to feel sick. She was getting more flustered by the minute with Caleb whimpering and you holding him against you.

Finally your mother cleared her throat and you realized you'd gone too far. Before she could say anything, you sat forward and locked eyes with me, alert and scared.

"We should get going," you said. "Good to see you, mom." Then you said something in Spanish I didn't understand, but Dolores stiffened as you rose off the couch. I followed your lead out of the house and down the walkway to the car, turning around to wave goodbye to your mom as she stood with her arms crossed in the doorway.

You buckled Caleb in, tugging his shoulder straps twice because making him safe makes you feel safe. I sat in the passenger's seat and when you were buckled I took your hand and squeezed it. I didn't quite know how you felt about what had just happened and I didn't want to say something that could be wrong. I just watched your face and waited.

After we were safely out of sight of your parents' house, you simply stated. "She wasn't mad we came."

I shook my head in agreement and watched you think for a few moments.

"She wasn't happy either."

I nodded and bit my lip. She had _almost_ smiled, but it was only in the same way everyone smiles when a baby smiles at them. It's like you have to become a mirror for a moment, otherwise the baby will get upset. Even though that's silly, I think that's why we smile back at babies.

"It could have been worse," you said, trying to put a hopeful spin on things. But I know you were doing that because deep down, you were really hoping she'd fall in love with Caleb. Maybe someday she will. Maybe someday you and she will start to heal a little bit. At least that's what I hope for you. But I know that no one will ever, ever love Caleb as much as you and I do. It's just not possible.

You dropped me off at the hotel where the reunion was happening and then took Caleb to have lunch with your dad at St. Rita's. On the way you turned to me in a panic and asked if it was okay to take him to the hospital, since there were so many germs and sick people there. You actually laughed at yourself when I reminded you he was _born_ in a hospital and we had taken him to what seemed like hundreds of post-natal appointments _at_ a hospital. I'm glad you can see how silly you are sometimes.

I got really nervous as I walked into the hotel. I kind of wished I had Caleb with me, because he always takes the attention off me. If I don't know what to do I can just pretend he needs something. But I wouldn't be very helpful if I had to take care of him while we were trying to set up. So I just squeezed my hands by my sides and took a deep breath and walked in.

Quinn still looked beautiful. Her hair was longer and a little darker and she was slightly curvier, but not much. Definitely not as much as me. She was working as a first grade teacher in Cincinnati. When I told you that over the course of emailing her about the reunion, you were surprised. "A teacher? Really?" you said, wrinkling your nose a bit. "Why? She could have done so many other things." I think teachers are so important and I bet Quinn is a great teacher, so I just shrugged and changed the subject.

Quinn was busy power-walking around the room making sure everything was set up right. After a hug and a few polite questions, she gave me things to do - setting up little vases of flowers on the tables, making sure the name tags were spaced evenly on the check-in table - but in between jobs I just kind of stood around awkwardly. What do you say to someone you used to know but haven't talked to in a long time? She's not easy to talk to like Kurt was when we saw him earlier this year. She's too masked.

When our classmates started arriving, I realized I didn't know as many people at McKinley as I thought I did. Even the familiar faces looked different. Cheek bones were more accentuated and jaws were stronger and I'm pretty sure at least three of our Cheerio friends had had work done. Most people were a lot heavier, too. Including me.

I was relieved when you finally arrived with Caleb. At least if I didn't have anyone to talk to I could find a quiet corner and pretend Caleb needed me. He's a great little buffer like that.

You took him out of his car seat and held him in front of you, lifting his arm and wiggling it so it looked like he was waving at our friends. You were absolutely beaming as Caleb looked around him, unsure. Quinn hovered a few feet away, watching as Mercedes and Puck and Sam cooed over our boy, hesitantly reaching out to touch his hair or wiggle his arm in greeting.

"I never thought you two would be the first to pop one out," said Puck. "Now you're all responsible and shit. Changing diapers and everything. It's like… weird."

"It's not glamorous," you giggled, "but we wouldn't trade it for the world," you added, beaming at me.

"If I didn't know, I'd seriously have _no_ idea which one of you was the birth mother," Puck said, looking incredulous as he glanced back and forth between us. "He looks like both of you."

Caleb flapped his arms and gave Puck his goofiest grin. I think your face was about to crack in half, you were smiling so hard.

"Oh please, don't tell me you didn't notice Brittany's boobs," Mercedes said, rolling her eyes and smiling.

Puck gave a little shrug and leaned closer to Caleb, murmuring, "Hi, little guy..." as he jiggled his foot in greeting.

I wanted to cover up my entire body. Yeah, my boobs were bigger, but it's not like a nursing bra is super flattering and my boobs _hurt_. It sounds strange, but knowing people were looking at them made them hurt more. And then there was the rest of me that I know people were looking at. I wish we could have all come to the reunion in big, fluffy bathrobes. Then it might not have been so bad. Everyone would look lumpy like me.

"I have never seen such a precious child," Mercedes said, shaking her head as she smiled at Caleb. "He looks like a diaper commercial baby."

"He uses enough diapers to be able to model them expertly," you laughed. Caleb kicked his legs in and out a few more times, grinning and making a little hooting sound.

"Aw, look at him!" Quinn clucked, finally letting her smile break free.

Caleb kept pumping his legs.

"He's gonna be a good dancer like his mama," Sam said.

I haven't danced in a long time. Not formally at least. We danced at our wedding and we used to dance when we had time and energy to go out clubbing. But I haven't danced on a stage since high school.

I've always loved dancing, but I didn't want it to be my life. You once asked my why I didn't take more dance classes or join the dance troupe in college. I just shrugged. I need something to make me feel like I'm really present inmy body, to make my heart pound and my breath deepen and my thoughts calm. But dancing is just one of the things that works for me. I ran track in college and that was what fueled me then. I took yoga for a while and that was great. Sex has always worked really well too. But lately nothing works.

You looked down at Caleb as Caleb looked at me. "Are you gonna be a dancer, Cay?"

He let out a little shriek and kicked again.

Mercedes and Puck laughed and Caleb kicked a few more times before getting distracted by his hand.

"Shall we find a seat?" Quinn suggested, gesturing into the room.

You handed Caleb to me as we sat around one of the dozens of round tables in the hotel ballroom. Everyone around us was happy; some had drinks in their hands, heads rolling back with laughter as we caught up on each other's lives. Caleb bounced on my lap, looking around with wide eyes. His little feet turned inward and dug into my thighs with each bounce. He was getting heavier and thanks to all the time he spent on his tummy while you did your "mommy workouts," he was getting pretty good head control, though he still looked a little like a bobblehead sometimes.

"Fabray!"

I would have recognized that voice anywhere. Sue Sylvester came strutting up to the table and to my surprise, Quinn actually got up and gave her a hug. Sue placed a hand on her shoulder. "You look exactly like you did in high school," she remarked.

"You're very kind to lie like that," Quinn said, looking down with a bashful smile. "You don't look a day older yourself."

"Thanks to my special sleeping pod," Sue shrugged. She turned to us. "Brittany and Santana, good to see you," she smiled as she bowed her head. "Don't get up," she added, giving Caleb a smile. "You've got your hands full. Did everyone hear about this year's Nationals winners?" she asked, her face smug. No one had to guess who had won.

She went around the table, giving Puck, Sam and Mercedes all handshakes. "It's good to see you back, ladies and gentleman. Now if you'll excuse me, I make it a point to attend all these ridiculous reunions to see how many of my former Cheerios have disgraced the squad by becoming fatties, so I gotta start making the rounds."

She didn't look at me when she said it, but I know she was talking to me. I just looked down at the edge of the table and hoped no one would point it out.

"I can't believe it's already been ten years. I feel _old_!" Puck said, frowning a little bit.

"Seriously, where did the time go? What have you all been doing?" Mercedes asked.

Looking around at our friends from high school, it was really hard to pay attention to the conversation. We used to know each other pretty well, but the truth is I had no idea who these people were any more. I tried to listen and figure out what everyone at the table was doing with their lives, but most of the conversation was just reminiscing our glory days with New Directions. You were more animated and funnier than ever. You always have something clever to say. I wish I was clever like that.

Caleb started to fuss in my lap and you turned to me. "Does he need to be fed?" you asked. The way you scrunched up your nose and whispered made me feel like I'd done something wrong, like I was supposed to feed him before we got there so he wouldn't be fussy. I know you wanted him to be perfect for our high school friends, but he's a baby and he's just going to cry when he wants to. But you're right, I probably should have tried to feed him when he got there.

I gave you a little shrug and stood up, walking out of the ballroom into a small side room, grabbing his diaper bag on the way.

I was kind of relieved when I sat down in one of the padded stacking hotel chairs. The room was dim and I could only hear a few muffled laughs from the party. I liked the quiet. So did Caleb. He snuffled and turned his head to me, mouth already open as I lifted my shirt. I sighed.

I feel terrible admitting it, but I really, really hate breastfeeding. Everyone talks about how good it is for the baby and how it's important bonding time, but it makes me miserable. Sometimes it hurts so much the only way I can distract myself is by counting to ten a bunch of times in a row.

After a few minutes you knocked on the door and entered quietly, closing the door quickly behind you. God forbid someone see my boob.

"You okay?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.

I shrugged and tried to give you a smile. I know you were really happy to be showing everyone just how amazing your life is. No one else had everything you have: a fantastic career, a devoted wife, and a beautiful baby. I don't blame you for being so excited.

"Is he ready to come back out and socialize?" you grinned.

I looked down at Caleb, who had lost interest in nursing. He was holding his ear and tipping his head around on my arm to look at you and the things around him in the room.

"Yeah, I think so."

You smiled wider and bent down, taking him from my arms. You kissed him on the cheek and turned toward the door. "C'mon buddy, I want you to meet some of my Cheerio friends from back when Mommy and I used to jump around and shout out rhymes that were even sillier than the ones we make up for you now..."

You went back into the hall and left me in the dark room alone.

I was kind of glad, actually. No one wanted anything from me here. I could just sit until Caleb needed to be fed or changed. I actually thought about just hiding there for the rest of the night, not having to think of things to say or trying so hard to smile. But there were a few people who wouldn't be so bad to talk to. Mercedes, at least. Maybe Sam.

I held my hands together in front of me as I walked back into the ballroom. There were more people now and it was getting crowded and loud. I saw you hovering next to the table where all the Cheerios sat, talking with the hand that wasn't holding Caleb. Everyone at that table was looking at you, some smiling, most practically green with jealousy. I'm pretty sure you're the most impressive of all of them, Santana. You just needed to double-check. And of course you wanted them to see how perfect Caleb is. But I _really_ didn't want to go over there. I couldn't remember most of their names and they were all so put together, I would have stood out too much.

I looked to where we had been sitting and saw that only Sam was there now, leaning back in his chair and looking around. His hands were clasped in his lap and he had a bit of a lopsided smile on his face. I decided to go sit with him. He's always been friendly and I don't feel strange around him because he's a little goofy. He was one of those people I wanted to get to know better in high school but somehow never did.

"Hi," I said, sitting in a chair one spot away from him. Sitting next to him would have been a little strange, I thought. Maybe not. I just needed a little space from everyone.

"Hi," he said, his smile widening. "How are you?"

I shrugged. "I'm okay. A little overwhelmed."

He nodded. "It's a lot of a people."

We looked around for a few moments, but I felt weird just sitting there not saying anything, so I asked the question everyone had been asking each other all night: "What are you up to now?"

He grinned back at me, launching into his prepared speech. "I live in Cleveland and I work in sales. I just got married a few months ago." He held up his hand, revealing a sturdy gold band around his ring finger. He was absolutely beaming. A very huge smile. "Her name is Amy. She wasn't feeling well tonight, otherwise I'd be showing her off."

"Aw, congratulations," I said. It wasn't hard to smile for that. I was genuinely happy that he was so happy.

"What about you?" Sam asked.

I started with the obvious thing. "I'm married to Santana," I said, pointing in the direction of the Cheerio table.

"She made sure we all knew that first thing," he chuckled. "But what are you up to? What do you do?"

I thought about the things I do. I do lots of laundry and dishes and breastfeeding. I take walks sometimes. I make dinner sometimes. I talk to my sister when she's upset. But really I don't "do" anything. I don't have a job. I liked being a hospice nurse before Caleb was born, but it's not really what I "do" anymore. I know I always have something to do at home and I always feel overwhelmed and busy, but I'm not doing anything productive. Just taking care of our baby. And I _love_ our baby. But my life is pretty boring.

"Just being a mom for now," I said, mustering up a smile. "I was doing some hospice work for a while, but we don't have anyone to watch Caleb during the day, so he and I just hang out..."

"That must be nice," Sam said, tilting his head back a bit. "Just getting to hang out all day and take naps? I'd dig it."

I didn't know how to say that it's really not that simple and sweet, so I just smiled back. It probably looked forced. Smiling sure was taking a lot of effort that day.

I didn't really see much of you that whole evening. You were busy laughing and talking and tossing your hair over your shoulder. Sometimes you'd want to be showing Caleb off, but as soon as he got wiggly or fussy, you'd find me and set him in my lap, patting me on the shoulder with a quick "thanks, baby." I found a few people to have forced conversations with, but I escaped to that little room nearby to nurse him a few times, even if he didn't need it. I stayed there for half an hour one time.

All the thoughts that had been mixed up in my head before settled like sediment in my skull. I was just exhausted and thinking took energy away from my limbs. I felt I had nothing left to give, yet somehow, my body still produced milk for Caleb. At least I could give him that. But sometimes the fact that he was breastfeeding felt like a tether. I could never be away for too long or go too far without having to swing back to him or least pump so I didn't feel like I was exploding.

When I ventured back into the ballroom, you were still chatting away. I don't think you'd even noticed I was gone. I picked at some food and waited for you to be ready to go. I was so tired and I just wanted to go home. But home wouldn't be very exciting either. So I just waited.

I was kind of glad we were staying at my parents' that night. Driving back to Columbus would have been too long, and I would have had to listen to you talk about everyone at the reunion the whole time. I was too tired to listen. Sometimes I wish it was socially acceptable to fall asleep whenever I want just like Caleb does. It was late when we got to my parents' house. Only my dad was awake, and I was glad, because I didn't have the energy to deal with my mom.

I love my mom. I really do. But sometimes it's hard to be around her. Not in the same way as your mom. Not at _all_. If I had to choose, of course I'd choose my mom over yours. Every single time. I can't really talk to you about it because I don't think you'd understand. You really like my mom and you two get along so well. Whenever she comes to visit, you go shopping with her and you come back with dozens of little outfits for Caleb. I give you both a pained smile and remind you he already has too many clothes and he can only wear one outfit at a time. "Yeah, but Britt," you always say, opening one of your bags, "just _look_ at this one! It's too adorable for him not to have." My mom jumps in and before I know it, I'm adding more clothes to his already-packed closet.

I'm glad you get along with my mom. Believe me, I am. I love that you love her enough to call her "mom" sometimes. But that doesn't change the fact that my mom is exhausting. Everything about her is big. Sometimes that's good: big smile, big heart, big dreams. But sometimes it's overwhelming. Her voice is loud, her clothes are loud, and she talks so much it feels like there's no space left for anyone else in the room. Especially someone quiet like me. I've spent over twenty-eight years listening to my mom talk and sometimes I'm surprised I have a voice at all. So I was glad she was asleep when we got to my parents' house. Maybe if I got enough sleep, I'd have energy to listen to her in the morning.

* * *

><p>A week later I stared into our back yard. It looked nice outside. Sunny. It was August, after all. When I was pregnant I imagined playing outside with our baby in a little inflatable pool. I would imaging wearing my favorite polka-dot bikini and your big, dark sunglasses while the baby was naked except for a hat, both smiling as we splashed. But I didn't fit into my bikini anymore and I hadn't made it to the store to get a little pool for Caleb yet. I should have. He loves baths so much, the pool would have been his absolute favorite. I made a note in my head to order one online later. But I knew I'd probably forget.<p>

Now the only things in the backyard were a few lawn chairs we got at a garage sale and a pile of gardening things that hadn't been touched since I bought them a month ago. I meant to turn the soil over in the flowerbeds, fertilize it and plant the sprouts I picked out. I really did. Every day I say I'm going to. I even went as far as putting sunscreen on Caleb one day. But I never seem to make it out the door to actually plant the tomatoes and pumpkins and flowers waiting out there for me. Now they're dying in their little plastic containers and I just feel stupid for thinking I'd get it together to make something nice in our yard. If the inside of our house is such a disaster - blankets, toys, bottles, clothes, dishes and laundry are _everywhere_ - why did I think I'd have time for the outside?

Every morning as you got ready for work, I could feel the sadness hanging over me, ready to descend when you left the house. I watched you getting ready - looking so happy to be going to work and so incredibly sexy in your suit - and every morning I hoped you'd stay with me just five extra minutes. That's all I wanted. Five more minutes before I felt heavier.

One morning you did stay a few extra minutes. I wanted you to come lay in bed with me and just _be_ there. When I pouted a little bit and mumbled that I really missed you while you were gone all day, you did lie down with me. It was the best thing that had happened to me all week. I miss having you all to myself.

"What's going on, sweetheart?" you asked, tucking my hair behind my ear. I love when you do that. I know I have your complete attention when you do that.

I didn't really know what was going on, only that you being there with me for a few more minutes was the best thing you could have done.

But of course I couldn't have you totally to myself. Caleb started to fuss on the bed between us and his chubby hand reached for my breast. I sighed. I was so, so tired of breastfeeding.

"That's one of my favorite things about Mama Brittany, too, little guy," you chuckled, looking down at him and then winking at me.

"S…" I groaned, rolling my eyes.

"I'm just sayin'," you continued, "your boobs have universal appeal."

I sighed again. "You like them because they turn you on. He likes them because they give him food."

"You don't know that."

I gave you a funny frown. "Are you saying he has an Oedipal complex?"

"A what?" you laughed.

"An unconscious desire to kill you and marry me?"

"Who _wouldn't_ want to marry you, Britt?" you said, hooking a finger under my chin and leaning forward to kiss me.

I felt a little lighter and I tried to smile but my boobs were really hurting.

You lay with us and watched him eat for a minute, letting yourself sink into the stillness that Caleb and I sat in all day. I love when you're here with us. It makes the stillness seem beautiful.

But all too soon you remembered you had to go to work and I felt you snap out of your daze.

"I better get going. Want me to pick up dinner?" you offered as you stood up and straightened your skirt.

"Sure," I shrugged.

You bent over and gave me a kiss on the cheek goodbye before trotting down the stairs and out the door.

And then I was back in the heaviness of the long, long day.

Every day felt more and more stale. It was hot and muggy outside and inside felt damp and sluggish. I didn't take Caleb for walks anymore because I just felt so gross and sticky afterwards.

Hayley was still calling me every day, and most days she didn't just sniffle, she sobbed.

"I hate my job _so much_, Britt," she blubbered. "I didn't think it was possible to hate a job so much!" Her voice was tight and wobbly and it made me feel so sad for her. "My boss is such a bitch. She doesn't explain how to do something and then she gets mad when I mess up!"

I was tired and lying on the couch, but trying not to let Hayley know I had my eyes closed and was trying not to fall asleep. I wanted to be a good sister. But I don't know if I've ever really been one. It's hard to feel like a good sister to Hayley because she's always taken care of herself and been so sure of who she is. I don't have any wisdom or experience to help her. I just listen and it doesn't feel like enough, especially when she's so sad.

"She sounds like a terrible boss," I said.

Hayley snuffled into her end of the line, the kind of snuffle that means she's not really done crying but she thinks she should be, so she's trying to stop. "Thanks, Britt," she mumbled. "I think I can go back inside now."

"You sure?" I asked, being as gentle as I could.

She hummed a yes that was more confident than I ever would have been. I turned my head, took a deep breath and opened my eyes, trying to muster some energy.

"Okay. Do you want to come over tomorrow night for dinner?" I offered. "Caleb misses you."

"I miss Caleb," she sniffled. "Is he doing anything new this week?" she asked, relieved for the change of subject.

"He's still working on rolling." I looked at Caleb where he was lying on his back, fascinated by the gadgets above him on his baby play mat.

"Tell him to keep working on it so he can show me when I see him next time, okay?"

"I will. Do you want to come over tomorrow?" I repeated.

"I um... I have a date," Hayley said. She sounded like she had done something wrong.

"Aw, that's great, Hay!" I cooed.

"Yeah, well... we'll see," she said. I could picture her shrugging the same way you do but secretly planning her outfit in her head. "I feel like I need to have more friends before I get into a relationship."

I felt a little sick when she said that. My sister has always been more outgoing than me. How could she be having trouble making friends? And what about people who are already _in_ a relationship and need friends? What do they do when they feel trapped, even by good things? What if they have a baby that sucks up all their energy and time and makes them boring? I was a mom now and I was supposed to have my life together. I was supposed to have friends to spend time with and take turns helping each other out. But I didn't. Suddenly I wished I had a big sister to help me. Maybe Hayley was supposed to be my big sister but we just got mixed up and I came first by accident.

Hayley sighed. "Well I have to go back inside now... my lunch hour is over. But thanks for talking me down, Britt. You're so grounded."

I'm not a grounded person at all. In fact, sometimes I'm afraid I'll float away. But sometimes I feel like I'm the opposite of flying, like even if I had wings, they wouldn't work.

* * *

><p>Do you know how heavy our boy is, Santana? <em>So<em> heavy. When I take him out of his crib I feel like I'm going to be pulled in. I know he's not really that heavy, but my arms just feel elastic. Holding him makes them heavier and after a few minutes my arms start to ache from my shoulders to my fingertips. Even after I've put him down and he's been sleeping for awhile, my arms ache. I love our boy and I want to hold him, but when I do, I just feel like I'm sinking. Heavy like I'm full of lukewarm tapwater; not cold, but certainly not warm.

When he fusses, I know I need to get up and feed him or change him, but his crib seems so far away. To pull myself out of the crater of my bed seems like it will take all day. I manage to do it. I wouldn't let our boy just lie there crying for ages. But it just takes so long… and when I get to the crib, I know he's crying not just because he's uncomfortable, but because I'm so slow. I've disappointing him. I hate disappointing anyone, especially him and especially you.

My body feels hollow and cramped at the same time. I know I gave birth months ago, but it feels like it was just days before. I'm floating and aching. My stomach looks strange and my legs feel shaky and my boobs are fine one minute and bursting the next. I just hurt. Everywhere. All the time.

One time I was standing over him at the changing table and I just burst into tears. He was fine, just fussy because he had a diaper rash that hadn't gone away no matter what kind of cream I put on his little butt. I sobbed and sobbed as I wiped him and put on more cream, brushing my eyes with my shoulder and the back of my wrist before pulling the tabs of his diaper closed and snapping his baby pants up. I felt like such a terrible mom. I'm supposed to be his biggest source of comfort, especially when you aren't around, and I'm failing.

I put him back in his crib even though he was still crying. I just needed a break. It's okay to take a break, right? I went and fell onto our bed and scrunched the pillow up around my head to block out the sound of him crying. But the door was open and I could hear him wailing down the hall at the same time his cries crackled through the baby monitor next to the bed. The sound wriggled through the feathers and fabric and echoed through my head and tugged at my heart. I was angry at him for being so needy and even angrier at myself for being so selfish. This is what being a mom is. What had I expected? That I'd be able to take out the batteries when I got tired and wanted to sleep?

After a few more minutes I couldn't stand to hear him cry any more. I trudged down the hall opened the door to his nursery and heaved a sigh.

"Why are you crying, Caleb?" I asked. My voice sounded droopy. "Tell me what's wrong."

I heaved him up and out of the crib and he coughed into my shirt, still crying.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

I knew this conversation was pointless, but honestly, I think it was the only way I was going to pass the time until you got home.

I took him downstairs to the living room for a change of scenery. I pulled up my shirt and unsnapped my bra. My boob was aching in anticipating of the pressure Caleb's mouth would put on my nipples, but I didn't know what was worse, listening to him scream or breastfeeding. As he nursed I just stared at the wall. I didn't have energy to do anything else. The only reason I noticed he stopped nursing was because my breasts didn't hurt as much afterwards. But then he started crying again and my whole body just ached, trying to comfort him with whatever ounce of strength I could muster and failing.

As soon as you walked in the door, you reached for him. As you took him from my arms, I felt like I was about to crumple, as if taking care of him was the only thing propping me up. And I think it might have been. Loving him and loving you are the sticks that hold up my frame, no matter how hollow or heavy I get.

He settled with his cheek pressed into you as he snuffled and wiggled his legs for a few minutes before he got sleepy and calm and angelic. You rocked side to side on your feet with him held up on your shoulder, rubbing his back as he blew spit bubbles into your work shirt. He loves you _so_ much, Santana. I think he loves you more than me. I know that sounds silly, but watching him it doesn't seem silly at all. He calms right down when you pick him up, unless he's hungry, and even then he grabs for your boobs. I know you come home tired, but you're so instantly available, so responsive and giving to him the second you set down your briefcase. I was still in my pajamas and slippers, hadn't showered, and had spitup stains from yesterday on my shoulder. I have no idea how you do it, because you get woken up just as often as I do. I'm so jealous of all your energy. At least I think I would be jealous if I weren't too tired to feel.

When you spoke to me it sounded so strange, like I was underwater or you had ten scarves wrapped around your face, covering your mouth. Which would have been odd, since it was August.

_Did you get a shower today, Britt?_

No. As if it weren't obvious from my greasy hair and rumpled, stained clothes. Taking a shower would have been so much work… and as soon as I got in, I'm sure Caleb would have started crying. Then when I tried to climb out of the tub I would just sink to the bottom and drown.

_Well…_ you said, glancing around at the house I'd been too tired to clean, _I'll play with him so you can take a nice long shower._

I burst into tears. You were trying so hard to make me feel okay, but your energy just made me feel worse. How is it you can work twelve hour days and come home ready to take care of me and our baby? You are _so_ sweet to me and him, doting on us and cooing and finding little things to do to comfort us both. I can't remember the last time I was sweet to you. Or anyone. Thinking about that made me cry harder.

_Baby, it's okay,_ you cooed, giving me an affectionate frown. _It's just a shower._

No, it wasn't okay. But I adored you for trying. There was just no way I could ever be okay with feeling like I had done such a terrible thing by having a baby and then not being happy to take care of it. I stood there shuddering, my hands hanging at my sides as I squeezed my eyes shut.

I heard your voice getting closer and knew you must have been walking towards me.

_You don't have to take a shower, sweetie… How about a bath? Caleb loves baths. We could all take one together_

That just made me cry harder and press my hands to my face.

_Baby, did something happen?_

I shook my head because my throat was blocking all my words.

That's when you knew I wasn't okay. Thank god for that, because I didn't have the words or the heart to tell you. If Caleb hadn't rested his head against my chest and fallen asleep to my heartbeat, I would have thought I didn't have any heart at all. That's how hollow I felt.

You eyed me, suddenly scared. You kissed the soft spot on Caleb's head and set him down on his tummy on a blanket. He was trying to crawl, but hadn't quite figured it out yet. Watching him try to crawl was like watching me try to do anything; I would just struggle against my own body and end up too tired to keep going. The difference between me and him was that he kept trying.

You walked toward me and without saying anything, pulled me into you and held me _tight_. That's when I let go. I just stopped trying to keep going. I let go and hoped you would hold me together when I broke.

You were so scared; last time this happened, I left you for four months. Because it was all I could do to reassure you, I squeezed you back, my crying muffled against the spot where Caleb had just blown spit bubbles.

"Don't let me go," I whispered.

You pressed the back of my head into you and shook yours.

_We need you too much._

If you want to know the scariest, truest, darkest thing I've ever realized... I'm more scared of depending on you than you are of depending on me. But I have no choice now. There was no one else to catch me.

After a minute of holding me, you draped me across the sofa, limp and exhausted. I sank into the cushions as I watched you pick up our son, our sweet, innocent little Caleb who didn't deserve this at all. You gave him a few bounces as you made hushing noises in his ear. His head wobbled against your shoulder as you took him upstairs, and he looked back at me with wide infant eyes as he chewed his fist. I know it was just his usual curious baby face, but I swear I actually heard him thinking _what's wrong with Mama Brittany?_

I don't know, Caleb. I don't know.

I closed my eyes, knowing I had a few moments to disappear before you came back. The quiet never lasts long enough though, does it? But sometimes the silence is endless.

You brushed my hair behind my ear when you returned. _Baby, you need to tell me._

I just sniffled and shrugged. I didn't know what to say. So I lied. "I'm just tired."

Your voice was so gentle and warm, it felt like a blanket wrapping around me. _You're not just tired, Britt._

Thank you. Thank you, thank you.

_Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart._

You tried to coax my shoulder up, but it was too heavy, even for you. I helped you as much as I could. I rolled over and tried to sit up. It was so difficult. My stomach muscles have been useless since Caleb came. I just felt weak all over, like every muscle I used to command effortlessly had been drained of its juice.

As soon as I was sitting up, you reached for the hem of my shirt. I frowned at you, and you gave me a soft, calm smile.

_I started a bath for you upstairs._

You took off my shirt and my arms flopped back down as you untied the drawstring of my pajama bottoms.

"With Caleb?"

_Just for you. I can wash your hair if you want._

I sniffled again. "I'm so greasy."

You let out a quiet, desperate chuckle. Something needed to be funny so you wouldn't feel so scared.

_Nothing a little lavender soap can't fix. _

The water didn't feel as good as it usually does as I sank down in it. It made me heavier and my muscles went limp and I was convinced I'd never be able to get out. I heard you in the nursery talking with that sticky-sweet baby voice, singing in Spanish, your voice a little halting and I knew you were bouncing him, as if soothing him would soothe your own fears about what was happening to me.

You're such a good mom, Santana. You can take care of him and yourself like it's no big deal. I can't even take care of myself, let alone our baby. I wish I was like you. I wish I was like anyone else.

I heard you finish the song and a moment later you came into the bathroom, bending over to kiss my clammy forehead. _Feeling better?_

I don't blame you for hoping a bath would fix me. Wouldn't that be wonderful if it did?

I wanted you to know that you are the most loving person I've ever met, so I couldn't say no. I felt cleaner, but not better. So I didn't say anything.

You understood my nonresponse meant no, because you reached for a washcloth and one of the cups we let Caleb play with in the tub. Placing the washcloth over my eyes, you washed my hair. Your soft, steady fingers felt so good in my mess of greasy tangles. As you poured the water over my hair and worked the shampoo through, I felt almost human. But my scalp didn't tingle the way it usually does when you wash my hair. It was just as dead as the rest of me.

When all the bubbles had been washed out, I sighed. "I feel heavy."

You nodded and studied my face. I think even my eyelids were heavy.

_What makes you feel light?_

Nothing.

"You and Caleb."

You kept staring at me, studying my face as you nodded. _I'll go get him._

Moments later you were both naked and climbing into our claw foot tub. Caleb was kicking his legs in excitement, head wiggling as he looked down at me in the water with wide eyes. He really loves baths, doesn't he? His excitement was almost enough to make me smile.

He shrieked in delight as you placed him in the water between us, trying not to slosh as you settled on the bottom and sandwiched him with your knees so he wouldn't tip over. It was a strange sea of feelings, that bath; me feeling like I was sinking on one end, you swimming for your life on the other, and Caleb splashing and giggling between us, as if he knew he could keep us both afloat with his joy. And I think he did, Santana. I think our baby kept us afloat.

The problem was that even though we were together, we were in a boat with absolutely no idea how to get to shore.

* * *

><p><strong>If you are so inclined, please leave a review!<strong>


	5. Horizon

**Chapter 5: Horizon**

A/N: Long chapter is long! Thanks to my betas, terriblemuriel and FrogsRcool.

* * *

><p>You wrapped me in a big white bathrobe as I stood dripping on the bathmat. Your hands and your voice were so soft and nervous and held me as if I were made of china.<p>

_Britt_, you murmured, _you _promised_. Why didn't you tell me?_

You looked hurt and scared. As if I needed something to make me feel more guilty. Not only was I a bad mom, now I was a bad wife.

I shrugged. "I just thought I wasn't trying hard enough..."

_Britt, that's absurd._

The last word hurt me. All I'd been trying to do was be okay and now you were telling me I was absurd. I started crying again.

_No, no..._ you cooed, _No, baby, you're not absurd._ Your face stretched with worry and apology. _Britt, don't cry,_ you pleaded._ I mean... you can cry. Just... just don't feel so bad._

But I did feel bad, so I started shivering and shaking a little bit. You were shaking a little bit too, and even though you were naked and wet and holding our equally soggy son against you, your shaking wasn't from being cold.

_Baby, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. Well, you should have told me. But now we're just going to focus on figuring this out, okay?_

You tilted your head as you looked at me and I realized you were waiting for me to respond. I gave you a small nod.

That was enough of a response for you. _How about I bring you dinner in bed and you just sleep for as long as you can? I'll give him a bottle if he's hungry._ You lifted Caleb's butt an inch to indicate you'd take care of our baby while I slept.

I opened my mouth to say _I can't_, but I didn't know what I couldn't do. I could eat. I could sleep. So I just wiped my face with the sleeve of the robe and nodded.

After you brought me a slice of microwave lasagna, I fed Caleb before burying myself in our bed. I fell asleep almost before I closed my eyes.

When I woke my boobs were bursting and the sun was up. I was confused; how had I not heard Caleb crying all night? I looked to the bedside table and saw the monitor was missing. I felt sick to my stomach. Was Caleb okay? Had I knocked the monitor off the table in the middle of the night? What if he cried all night and I was too busy being a crappy mom to hear? I bolted out of the room into his nursery, but he wasn't there either. I started to feel cold all through my stomach and arms as I flew down the stairs to the living room. There I saw you sitting on the couch, already showered and dressed, feeding Caleb a bottle of pre-pumped milk. You weren't wearing your suit.

I was relieved but so confused. I frowned.

"Morning," you said with a soft grin, looking up from Caleb as he sucked intently on his bottle. "Did you sleep okay?"

I bit my lip and nodded. "How come I didn't hear him all night?"

"I slept in the guest room with him in the portable crib," you explained. "I'm not going in today," you added, looking down at your jeans and fitted t-shirt. "We have an appointment with Dr. Greene."

I swallowed. I was really nervous all of the sudden. I know I needed to go, but I didn't want to talk about whatever was wrong with me. It didn't feel like something was wrong with me, it felt like I had done something wrong.

"Can I-" I pointed back and forth between Caleb and my boobs. Caleb was quiet and content with his bottle, but my boobs were screaming.

"Yeah, of course," you said, shaking your head and taking the bottle out of Caleb's enthusiastic mouth. He reached to try to pull the bottle back, but you set it on the coffee table. "You must be hurting."

I gave you a serious nod as I bent to pick him up. You scooted over on the couch and I sat next to you, pulling up my shirt. I could feel you studying my face as I nursed him, examining me as if trying to find clues as to what was happening in my head. I didn't want to look at you because I had no idea either and I would just feel so guilty about feeling sad if I did. So I kept my gaze on Caleb as he nursed.

After a minute you leaned towards me and gave me a kiss on the cheek as you got up. You came back a few minutes later with some granola and yogurt. You fed me while Caleb ate. As I pulled my shirt down, you draped a cloth on your shoulder and reached for Caleb.

"I'll burp him," you said. "You have time for a shower before we need to leave."

I nodded and walked upstairs.

I don't know if I could have gotten to the hospital and back without you. With the carseat and the parking and everything... it would have felt like running a marathon. I'm so glad Denton let you take the day off without asking questions. When I asked you what you told him, you just said, _I told him my family needed me and that I'd join the department meeting by phone later this afternoon._

Dr. Greene loves our baby boy. I know she sees hundreds of babies every year, but she does a great job of convincing all of the parents that theirs is special. I mean, _all_ babies are special. But she even remembered that Caleb loves baths almost as much as he loves eating. Once I nursed him in the bath and he couldn't decide if he wanted to splash or suck and his little head kept jerking back and forth, switching activities every few seconds. Finally he got so overwhelmed he fell asleep.

Dr. Greene talked in a voice that was lower and slower than usual, like she was handling me with gloves. I couldn't decide if I liked that. But I know I don't like when feelings are given a label like _post partum depression_. That makes them seem like an alien that needs to be conquered. They're not an alien, they're a part of me, even if it's hard to have it be part of me. I want to feel better, but my feelings are a part of me and I am always myself. I stared at the black and white tiles on the floor and tried not to cry.

After Dr. Greene said _post partum_, you got flustered. You pulled Caleb closer to your body and braced your shoulders.

"But I don't understand," you protested, the hard edge of your lawyer voice slicing the room, "she's been _fine_ until now. Caleb is five months old, wouldn't we have seen symptoms earlier?"

"Not necessarily," Dr. Greene said with a sympathetic smile. "Post partum is very mysterious. But let's talk about what we can do. How has breastfeeding been going, Brittany?"

I jerked my gaze up off the floor and swallowed. "Okay," I lied.

"Britt..." you warned.

"It's um... it's been kind of rough."

"Painful?"

You eyed me, forcing me to tell the truth.

"Yeah."

"It's making her miserable," you said.

I was surprised you said that. I know you can see my face when I grimace at times, but I hadn't really talked to you about how much I hate breastfeeding.

Dr. Greene nodded and recrossed her legs. Her voice got even quieter. "There's a lot of pressure out there to breastfeed for a long period of time. But it's an exhausting process and it can make motherhood quite difficult. I support whatever you feel is best for your own health, which may well be stopping."

Half of me was so relieved to hear her say that. But the other half of me started balking, reciting everything I'd read about how important it is to breastfeed. _Breastfed babies are healthier. Breastfeeding helps attachment. If you don't breastfeed you're a bad mom._

"I support you stopping too," you murmured. "Whatever you need to do to feel better, sweetheart."

At that exact moment Caleb scrunched up his face and started whimpering. It was like he _knew_.

I looked back and forth between Caleb and you and Dr. Greene. I didn't know what to say.

"Caleb will be fine," Dr. Green assured. "Once you stop breastfeeding, you can go back on your medication without worrying about transmitting it to him, if you feel that would be helpful."

I just pursed my lips. "I'll think about it."

When we got back in the car, you turned to me. "So what do you think about stopping?" you asked.

I looked at the dashboard and shrugged. "I don't know... I feel like I should keep trying..."

You tilted your head back and gave me a sad smile. "Britt, you've already given him _such_ an amazing gift," you hummed. "Five months of breastfeeding is more than so many babies get. And we were going to start giving him solid food in a few weeks anyway, remember? I really..." you let out a heavy sigh. "I know it's not my decision. But I really want you to feel better and continuing to breastfeed won't help."

"My boobs will hurt a lot when I stop."

"They hurt a lot _now_," you argued. "At least if you stop it'll end eventually."

I bit my lip. I really did want to stop. Mostly I did. The selfish non-mom part of me did. But it's really hard to let the selfish part win when you have a perfect little baby to take care of. He comes first.

But you were giving me permission to put myself first this time. Getting permission from you made a big difference to me, even if it was my choice.

"I want to stop," I mumbled.

"So stop," you whispered.

I sat for a minute. I squeezed my eyes shut to try to block out the _bad mom_ thoughts. After a minute I decided to be selfish. "Okay."

I opened my eyes and saw your shoulders relax a bit out of the corner of my eye. "What about the medicine?" you asked.

I looked down at the floor. I know medicine helps me. It made all the difference in the world last time. Still, I don't like that I can't do it all myself. I don't like the idea of pills being the reason I am happy or sad. I have plenty of things that should make me happy. And sometimes I _am_ happy without pills. Quite often, actually. I just never know when. I wish I could decide when. I wish I had time to figure myself out.

But now I have the most important person in the world depending on me for everything. And now I'm not just your girlfriend, I'm your wife. I would never do anything to risk losing either of you. I'm supposed to be an adult who does whatever she has to do for her family. So I'll swallow my pride. I'll swallow it by the bottle if that's what it takes.

"Yeah," I whispered.

"You'll take it?" you asked.

I nodded. "As soon as he's weaned."

Your shoulders relaxed all the way and you leaned over the console with your arms out to me. I tilted myself into you and rested my head on your shoulder, breathing in your comfort as you wrapped me up.

"I love you so much, Britt," you whispered. "It kills me to see you so sad."

I just took a deep breath and sank further into you. I really, really hoped it would work.

* * *

><p>A week later not much had changed in my head. You were coming home earlier and had even worked from home one day, but I was still really sad. It was even worse now because I felt more pressure to be happy when you were around so that you wouldn't feel so nervous.<p>

I didn't even realize I had fallen asleep until I felt your lips on my cheek one afternoon. I lifted my head, disoriented as you smiled nervously down at me.

"How was your day, baby?"

"Okay," I mumbled, reaching over to find Caleb fast asleep on the bed just a foot away.

"What does _okay_ mean?"

I yawned and shrugged.

"If your worst day was a one and the day we found out Caleb was coming to our family was a ten, what was today?"

I looked around the room. That seemed like a really strange question. I'd need a million decimal places to fit all my days between one and ten. And my feelings don't have numbers. I can be happy and mad at the same time. I can love someone and resent them at the same time. I can cry and want to dance at the same time. Those things don't have numbers because they are too complicated. Even if they did, the number would always be changing.

But you were so anxious and you wanted to know things were better.

"Um... like a three. Or a five. I dunno."

That unsettled you more. You tucked your hair behind your ears. "Okay," you said, resigned to not getting an answer. "How are your boobs?"

"Painful," I said. They really did hurt.

"What number?" you asked.

I know you were asking me to rate my pain on a scale of one to ten, but I don't like quantifying things that can't be counted and the way you asked just sounded weird.

"Two," I said. "One on the right, one on the left."

You gave me a shaky smile and gave up. "Okay. Well, I got you something," you announced, proud like you had figured out the secret to making me better. You produced a shoe box. When I sat up and opened it, I was surprised to find a pair of shoes inside. I know that sounds ridiculous; everyone expects shoes to be in a shoebox. But shoes will not fix me.

Then I realized what you wanted. You wanted me to get back in shape so I'd look better. Maybe if I looked better we'd have more sex. I pulled the blanket up higher over my hips so you wouldn't have to see them. Then I started thinking about how we weren't having very much sex and I felt even worse. I looked down at Caleb so I wouldn't have to look at you.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Sorry for what?" you asked.

"For..." I trailed off. I couldn't say the words out loud. I shrugged. _Sorry I'm so unattractive now. _"Sorry we're not having sex."

I felt you frown. "Why would I give you shoes if I wanted to have sex, Britt?"

When you put it like that my thoughts sounded stupid. I shrugged again. My shrugs sure felt heavy.

"Dr. Greene said exercise would help you feel better."

I had heard what Dr. Greene said. That didn't mean it was going to be easy.

When I didn't respond you let out a little sigh, half disappointed, half bolstering yourself to keep trying to prop me up. "I got something else."

You went out into the hallway and came back pushing a brand-new jogging stroller. There was a second pair of running shoes in the seat.

I frowned. "I only have two feet. I don't need four shoes."

"No… the jogging stroller and extra shoes are for me. I'm gonna go _with_ you. We can start by just walking and build up from there."

Even if it made me feel bad, I know you were trying to make me feel good. We were both trying. That was the best we could do. I held out my arm, my hand hanging limp at the end. You let go of the stroller and walked to the bed, taking my hand.

"You're sweet, S," I mumbled. "More than anyone else knows."

"Only for you, babe," you murmured, leaning down to kiss me. "And baby," you added, tapping Caleb on the nose.

We started going for walks. I was glad we didn't run, because my boobs were screaming louder than Caleb ever does. We walked around the block a few times every evening before the sun went down, and I thought I noticed that you held your head a little bit higher now. Maybe this neighborhood didn't seem so bad to you after all.

Weaning was a painful and confusing process, and not just physically. When he cried, it was just instinct to nurse him. But I couldn't do that every time now, not if I wanted to switch him to formula. I had to keep careful track of how much I nursed and how much formula I gave him as we transitioned. Luckily he seemed to like the formula and drank it just as enthusiastically as breast milk.

I always wanted to get out of the house. But at the same time, I didn't have the energy to do it. I wanted someone to take me out. I was beginning to feel the way I had felt while you were in law school; a little bit trapped. I knew you were anxious about it too. We have a hard time talking about things when there's no solution. But we did.

We started doing our weekly ten-minute check-ins on Sunday nights again. We originally started doing them a few years ago after I came back as a way to make sure we were okay and to talk about things that are hard to bring up. We stopped for a while when Caleb came because we were both so busy and tired, but now you had an alarm on your phone to remind us. I dreaded it because now it was all about me being sad, and I felt bad for being the problem.

"How are your days going?" you asked, tilting towards me over the kitchen table.

"They're long..." I said, looking out the window and glancing back at you a few times.

"Are you finding things to do?" you asked. "Fun things?"

I shrugged. "Now that we have the little pool for him, that's pretty fun..."

You had picked up an inflatable pool the weekend before and spent a few hours splashing with Caleb in the late summer heat as I watched from the patio. Watching the two of you was the most adorable thing ever. Your smile was so big I could see your eyes crinkle up even under the sides of your sunglasses. Caleb was finally strong enough to sit on his own, even if he did get so excited he tipped over twice. He was startled each time it happened but you caught him quickly and hugged him until he was smiling again.

I remembered I had forgotten to deflate the pool and hang it to dry over a chair on the porch the day before. I hoped raccoons hadn't popped it.

"Yeah, that's fun, but you need to get out of the house."

I know I needed to. But I didn't have the energy, and unless it was to the grocery store, I didn't have anywhere to go. So I said that. "I don't have anywhere to go."

"Go anywhere. You need to be with _people_, Britt. People love you."

I didn't know about that so I bit my lip. "It's just hard."

You looked at me, and I felt like I was supposed to say something. But I didn't know what to say.

"Would you feel better if you went back to work?" you asked. You said it quietly, as if the suggestion might hurt my feelings.

The truth is, I _had_ thought about going back to work. I like being a nurse. But every time I think about taking a job, I imagine what it would be like to be away from Caleb the whole day, knowing I might miss the first time he stands or his first word or - God forbid - him hurting himself. I imagine being at the door with his little fist clinging to my finger as I gave him kiss after kiss after kiss, trying to tear myself away and start my commute, but feeling the tug back towards him the whole day.

I wonder how you do it, Santana. You are so strong.

"Not yet," I said, shrugging.

You looked at me for another long moment, trying to figure out if I was telling the truth. I was telling the truth. Most of it. The truth can be really complicated. There are so many answers between _yes_ and _no_.

I made more of an effort to find a solution for myself. I signed up for Gymboree with Caleb; that didn't go so well. It was noisy and he got overwhelmed, which means he clung to me the whole time and cried when I tried to help him with the clapping and singing. And the other moms were intense. I guess I understand where they're coming from, but it wasn't so easy to appreciate their screechy enthusiasm. They want to connect with their babies, but I don't think the way to do that is to stick your face in the baby's face and make squealing sounds that don't sound like real words. It's hard to listen to a room of women talk like that. It sounds crazy.

Still, I got a few good songs out of it. When you heard me singing you changed a few words so Caleb would know for sure the song was about him. _Bingo_ became _Caleb_:

_I know a boy who has two moms and Caleb is his name-oh! C-A-L-E-B! C-A-L-E-B! C-A-L-E-B, and Caleb is his name-oh!_

Caleb and I didn't go back to Gymboree. I took him to the swimming pool, and he liked it a lot. He got so excited he flapped and shrieked for a long time. I mean, there was so much water! He had never seen so much water before! The water went on and on forever and mommy could even stand up in it! But it seemed silly to go through all the trouble to go to the pool when he liked the bathtub and inflatable pool too. At home I didn't have to put him in a weird plastic diaper and we wouldn't smell like chlorine afterwards. And if we didn't go to the pool, I wouldn't have to worry about what other people think of the way I look now.

I tried making plans with the few people I was still in touch with from nursing school. My closest friend Nicole is always happy to see me. Usually. But I think she'd rather be with just me and not Caleb. She thinks he's cute, but she never fusses over him or asks if he's sleeping through the night or if he's teething yet.

One day we met for lunch. I listened to Nicole talk about her work in anesthesiology as we ate in a local diner. I like going to diners because I don't have to worry too much about Caleb fussing and making a scene. Sit-down restaurants make me nervous because it's hard to leave quickly if he starts crying. But everyone expects diners to be noisy.

Usually when I go out, he falls asleep in the car on the way and is pretty quiet. This time was no exception. As I looked over the menu for the least fattening thing they offered, he slept in his stroller, head tilted to the side. It didn't look comfortable, but he always slept that way in his carseat.

I know you don't really like Nicole, but you should. She's very friendly and she always helped me when I didn't understand something in nursing school. She did hurt both of our feelings a little bit when she asked who our baby's dad was, but she didn't know any better. It doesn't make sense to not like someone just because they don't know something. There are lots of things I don't know and people still like me. At least they used to when I had interesting things to talk about and didn't have to take care of Caleb all the time.

Nicole is always up for hanging out, but I feel like lately she's always disappointed afterwards. I'm not as fun as I was when we met.

"We should go see that new Johnny Depp movie tonight!" Nicole said, bouncing once on her side of the booth.

"Aw, I wish I could..." I said, tilting my head and nodding towards Caleb. "It's a bit too long for him, though..."

Once when he was a newborn you and I went to see a movie. But he had been smaller and slept more and it had been in a near-deserted theater. And it feels different going out in public with you than with other people.

"Leave him with Santana!" Nicole said, flicking her hand as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I gave her an apologetic smile. "I don't know if she'll be home in time..."

Nicole sighed and frowned. "Britt, you're turning into such a _mom_."

I know she kind of meant it as a joke, but not entirely. If she had been as enamored with our boy as Elinor and Danielle are, I might have laughed. But I knew she meant I was boring. I had lunch with her a few more times before I decided it just made me feel worse. Maybe she's right. I am becoming too much of a mom. But I love Caleb too much to want to be a kid again.

* * *

><p>Once Caleb was weaned and my boobs stopped hurting - though they leaked a little on occasion - I started taking my medicine. Every morning at nine o'clock my phone beeped and I sighed, stopped what I was doing, and found the bottle of little pink pills. On the days I really didn't want to, I looked at Caleb and told myself he deserves a mom who is happy. It's easier to swallow the pills that way.<p>

At first nothing happened. It doesn't work right away. I know that. But some part of me hoped it would. I still cried some days and felt absolutely numb on others. Sometimes I was so frustrated with Caleb I'd put him in his crib and just let him cry while I took a three minute break. Hayley still called on most days and I felt like a broken record, telling her to just be strong and not to let her boss get to her. It felt like lame advice.

Gradually I felt a _little_ better. You and I started having sex more often. Not _often_ often. Not like when we were in college or during my second trimester or even during law school. But I was relieved we were having it. Even if it only happened in the dark with the covers over us, and even if it felt like we were just exchanging orgasms. It was something. And I think it was as much as I could handle knowing I looked so different. I didn't want you to look at me. I just needed to know that we were okay.

Caleb tagged along while I did the grocery shopping or had lunch with one of our only other mom-friends Danielle, all the while doing his little baby thing. Sometimes he was loud and fussy, and sometimes he could be entertained for an hour by a single plastic cup - it was so bright and fun to look at! It was so round! Just the right shape to grasp! And so cool to stick in his slurpy little mouth! - and some days a whole cupboard full of cups couldn't keep him entertained.

Some days I was bored to tears for hours on end. But then Caleb would do something so precious that time stood still. I was relieved that he crawled for the first time when you were home to see it. I worried as much about you missing milestones with Caleb as I worried about missing them myself. With great effort and concentration, he moved about a foot forward to grab his stuffed rabbit with the floppy ears. Your dad gave it to him when he came over for a family Fourth of July barbecue a few months earlier. Caleb really loves that rabbit. You were the one who figured out it's _Caleb's rabbit. _When he's upset he loves to be held and he loves to be sung to, but being held and sung to with his rabbit is the best combination. He rubs his face into it and starts to settle down quicker. So Caleb's rabbit goes everywhere Caleb goes now. When he crawled those few inches forward to grab his rabbit, you clapped your hand over your heart and reached for your camera, hoping to capture him on video. But that huge effort to pull himself forward exhausted him and he lowered his head onto the carpet, tucking his rabbit next to his torso as he looked at you, his work done for the day.

Caleb and I go for walks most days. It helps break up the day, and maybe one of these days I'll look remotely like I did before he was born. But as we walked up and down the streets of our beautiful neighborhood, I felt lonely. I saw lots of moms with SUVs just like mine loading and unloading cars full of kids, talking on their phones, and waving to each other as they passed. It seemed like everyone knew each other. I didn't know anybody and I didn't know how to start knowing people.

Every day I walked past that house where we had seen a woman with a baby walk inside a few months earlier. Every time I walked by I wondered if she had friends in the neighborhood. She probably did, and she probably didn't need a friend who was sad and boring like me. But I needed friends pretty badly. You told me you wanted me to have more friends sometimes, which made me feel kind of bad, but also kind of good, because I felt like you really saw me. So one day I decided to be brave and ring the doorbell of that house. My heart beat in my throat and I don't know why I was so nervous. It was just a house. I guess maybe because I've never had someone just drop by my house with a baby for no reason, and I didn't want to seem like a weirdo.

I heard a dog barking inside and suddenly I was even more afraid. Caleb had never been around a dog before. I didn't know if he would be scared. It probably depended on how big the dog was.

The woman who answered the door looked like a mirror-opposite of me; she was short and thin with brown hair to her shoulders, and balanced on her hip was a baby girl with blonde hair. The girl had long eyelashes just like Caleb, with bright blue eyes and pale skin. Her blonde hair was downy and soft, clipped together by a little pink bow. A little pomeranian bounced around the woman's ankles, letting out soft yips. Caleb didn't seem too scared, though he was definitely intrigued and unsure.

"Hi, this is Caleb!" I said. Right away I realized it sounded really strange for me to introduce my baby before me. Obviously I'm the one who rang the doorbell. Caleb was too small. "And I'm Brittany," I said, my words short and quick, hurried to get out so she wouldn't have time to give me a strange face.

But she smiled. It was a little smile, but a warm one. Not the kind you give someone you think is weird.

"Hi Caleb and Brittany," she said. "This is Zoe." She let a little pause breathe. "I'm Julie." She looked down at the dog. "And this is Yoshi." She was quiet and warm like a children's librarian.

There was another little pause and for a moment I really regretted ringing the doorbell. Why didn't I think of something to say beforehand?

I decided to just tell her the truth. "We moved here just a few months ago and we don't really know anyone. We thought we'd come say hi."

Julie's smile widened. "Well hi!" she said, stepping back and opening the door a little wider. "We don't know many people here either. Would you like to come in?"

I was surprised we'd been invited in so quickly, but I was really happy. I nodded and took Caleb out of his stroller and put him on my hip. As I followed Julie inside, Yoshi circled her ankles as if helping her welcome us.

The inside of Julie's house was so manicured and perfect, I didn't quite know where to stand and not mess something up. Every photo was perfectly framed and mounted and someone had obviously taken a measuring tape to make sure they were exactly even and spaced the same width apart. Even the flower arrangement on the dining room table - the kind of dining room that you only eat in a few times a year while wearing uncomfortable clothes and more makeup than usual - looked like it had been done by a man wearing a beret and an ascot.

"Would you like some tea?" Julie offered.

I don't usually drink tea, except for the pregnancy tea my mom gave me when we were expecting Caleb. I think caffeinated tea would make me more jittery. Her house was making me jittery enough.

"Um, sure," I stuttered. "If you have decaf. Caffeine makes me feel like a squirrel."

I realized that since she didn't know me, that sounded incredibly weird. How does one _feel_ like a squirrel? I should have just said jumpy and restless.

But Julie smiled and seemed less nervous.

"That is exactly what caffeine makes me feel like, too."

I liked Julie.

"You can sit on the couch," Julie said, raising her hand just a few inches toward the living room. It sounded kind of like a question, even though she obviously wasn't questioning my ability to sit on her pristine white couch. I was questioning my _own_ ability to sit there and not get it dirty, though. What if I'd sat in something? What if Caleb spit up?

As I waited, I bounced Caleb on my knee and he looked around, alert and wobbly. I patted his back, hoping he wouldn't start to fuss or get too curious about Julie's house, or worst of all, spit up. It was odd that Zoe lived here, because aside from a car seat by the door and an impeccably packed diaper bag next to it, there was no evidence of a baby living there at all. I thought about our house, where every surface had evidence of Caleb; grubby fingerprints, teething rings, spitup rags and toys. But not Julie's house. All the baby mess must be upstairs.

Followed closely by Yoshi, Julie came back in the room with my cup of tea in one hand and Zoe in the other arm. I looked around for something to talk about and quickly nodded towards the mantel.

"That's a pretty vase," I said.

She smiled in earnest. "Thanks. It's handmade blown glass. My husband bought that for me on our honeymoon."

"When was your honeymoon?"

"A year and half ago. I got pregnant a month later," she said, nodding toward Zoe, who was listing out of Julie's arms towards the floor.

"So she's about nine months?" I asked.

Julie nodded. "On Saturday."

Zoe kept leaning down and wriggling until Julie placed her on the carpet before sitting cross-legged next to her. Yoshi settled on the carpet a few feet away, resting his head on his front paws and looking up at me. I felt like a giant, sitting on the couch above them.

Zoe had three little teeth in her toothy grin as she crawled to the glass coffee table to pull herself up and examine my teacup.

"No, no, Zoe, stay here. Don't make the table dirty."

Julie lifted Zoe away from the table and shook a ring of plastic keys in front of Zoe's face. After a second Zoe grinned and reached for them. She stuck them in her mouth and started drooling around them.

"She's teething," Julie said with a little sigh. "She's been fussy."

"She seems happy now," I said, giving a shrug to dismiss Julie's worry.

"Yeah, you caught her about half an hour after nap. She's been fed and changed and now she's ready to play," she grinned, patting Zoe's back.

I nodded and rubbed Caleb's back. He was smaller than Zoe, which made sense, since they were three months apart. Zoe was gumming the plastic keys and staring back at Caleb. I looked down at Caleb where he was perched on my knees. He was staring at Zoe with his mouth open, in awe. After a second he lifted his arm toward her, as if he wanted to play with the keys in her mouth.

Julie pulled out a little basket from under the coffee table, producing a colorful plastic cup. "Here," she said, holding it out to me.

I leaned forward to take the cup and offered it to Caleb. He grabbed it right away, flicking his legs a bit in excitement as he brought the edge of the cup to his mouth, imitating Zoe.

"Aw look, he's flirting," Julie grinned.

I looked back at Caleb, who definitely had a goofy grin around the cup in his mouth.

"Maybe," I said. "We'll see. I don't know if he likes girls or boys yet."

Julie blinked a few times and then smiled. "That's a good point!" she said, as if the idea was completely new to her. "I guess I don't know if Zoe likes boys or girls yet either."

We looked back and forth between our babies as they grinned at each other.

"I'm pretty sure Caleb likes Zoe though," I said giving Julie a playful smile.

"I think Zoe likes Caleb," Julie said, giggled quietly.

We looked back and forth, not really sure what to say, but smiling because we both knew we were letting our babies speak for us.

The next time I went to Julie's house I brought half a pie that was left over from my parents' visit that weekend.

"Caleb reminded me Zoe turned nine months on Saturday and he wanted me to bring you this pie. But he ate half of it already. Sorry about that."

Julie laughed and opened the door wide.

We sat out on her porch taking bites of pie from her perfect little china plates with dainty forks as Caleb and Zoe crawled through the grass with each other while Yoshi trotted around them. Zoe was much faster than Caleb because she was bigger and stronger, but Caleb put so much effort into crawling after her I think she took pity on him because she turned around and crawled back to him before pressing her hand flat against his nose and mouth. He blinked and moved his head back a little, but then he reached for her face too. I think Zoe is Caleb's first love.

"You said you live down the street, right?" Julie asked.

"Yeah. Number 153," I said, licking the back side of my fork.

"_Oh_."

Julie's voice sounded a little startled, but not bad startled. I didn't know why the number of our house surprised her.

"Is our house haunted or something?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

Julie giggled. "No, no... my husband just said something about that house. That some new people had moved in."

"What did he say?"

"I um... I don't remember," Julie said. But her eyes darted to the corner of the yard and I knew she was lying.

"Was it something about me having a wife instead of a husband?" I asked.

Julie paused, bit her lip, and nodded.

I didn't need to ask what he had said.

"He just doesn't understand," Julie said quietly, giving me an apologetic shrug as her gaze fell to the grass.

I shrugged back. "Lots of people don't understand. But I think it's pretty simple. I love her and she loves me. The rest is just details."

Julie's nervous smile melted. "That sounds pretty simple to me."

I nodded and licked my fork again. "So what does your husband do?"

"He's a police officer," Julie said. "His name is Tim. Officer Tim Owens." She forked another bite and smiled down at the plate. Her smile was proud. She was proud to be married to a man with such an important job. I could relate. I've always been proud of you.

I started going to visit Julie every few days. Every time I went over we had more to talk about and I felt less pressured to act happy because I actually _felt_ happy. I haven't really had a best friend besides you. Aside from you, now Julie is the person who makes me feel best. And sometimes she's easier than you; she and I never have arguments about whose turn it is to take out the trash or who has to get up and feed Caleb this time. With her it's just easy. I guess that's why friends are so important. I feel so lucky to have Julie.

* * *

><p>We started giving Caleb baby food from a jar. First we tried rice cereal, which went over really well. He got more on his bib than in his tummy, but he was happy. It's <em>so<em> fun to try new foods and see how he likes them. He loves bananas and avocados, but he isn't so sure about pureed green beans or asparagus. I never give him a new food without you, because I know you'll want to see his reaction and take pictures if he starts making funny faces. Sometimes he is so enthusiastic that he'll try to grab the spoon, getting mush on his hands that will inevitably transfer to his hair. You always joke that he's "saving some for later."

We kept a little calendar of all his firsts, including foods; first cereal, first pumpkin puree, first applesauce, next to all his other firsts that didn't have to do with food. The first entry in the calendar was the first time we saw him smile, while he was asleep between us on the bed when he was about five weeks old. You had been so happy you cried. We marked the first time he rolled from his tummy to his back. He had lain there, a little startled and tired from the gargantuan effort it had obviously taken. But he stared up at his mobile and after a minute he giggled a little. We marked the first time he slept through the night, the first time he put his foot in his mouth, and the first time he crawled.

After a while, giving him new foods was no longer exciting. I'd spoon up whatever mush was in the jar, try to get it in his mouth, tilt the spoon, scrape whatever dribbled down his chin, pause, and repeat. He started getting more creative with his reactions. The first time he sprayed food out - pureed spaghetti with sauce, which sounds disgusting, so I don't really blame him - you laughed and he laughed with you, and then it became his favorite thing. If he was feeling silly, he'd spray his food out. It got old after a few times, and whenever you walked into the kitchen while I was feeding him, he'd do it to try to make you laugh. I had to tell you to keep a straight face so I would stop getting sprayed with pureed squash. But when you feed him, he doesn't spray. It's like he knows I hate it. I guess now that I think about it, it's pretty funny. It's like the first practical joke you two have played on me.

After Caleb eats, he usually gets sleepy and takes a nap. One Saturday Caleb was taking his post-lunch nap and you were going over some legal files and I had the weirdest feeling that there was something I was supposed to do. I walked around the house trying to figure it out. The dishes were done. The laundry was running. Caleb's room wasn't a complete disaster. Our bed was made. I couldn't vacuum while Caleb was sleeping. I realized there was _nothing_ I needed to do, and that's why I felt weird. But it was happy weird. I flopped down on the couch next to you, letting myself bounce a little bit. "What are we doing today?" I asked.

You looked up from your papers and gave me an amused smile.

It's a question you used to ask me all the time before Caleb was born. We would wake up on a weekend and if we didn't have plans, you would always ask me, "what are we doing today?" and I would say, "I don't know." Then you would start rattling off things we could do, but I didn't really listen because it's hard for me to think about the day before I eat. I would just nod and hum and eventually find a way to slink into the kitchen and make fruit salad or crepes with Nutella. I would eat and look out the window. You would get annoyed when I didn't respond to your ideas, so you would go into the office and shuffle papers around and check your email for a little while before joining me at the table. Once we'd eaten and I gave you a little apology smile, we'd find something to do.

So it was a little bit funny that I was asking you the same question now, since I hated the question so much before.

Your smile turned apologetic and you lifted the file in front of you just an inch. "I have to finish going over this deposition," you said, scrunching up your nose. "But it's a beautiful day. You should go do something fun. Go shopping!" you said, your smile brightening at the idea.

I hesitated for a minute. I hadn't gone shopping since we went shopping together for maternity clothes. It definitely sounded fun. But now I was so much bigger than before. I didn't want to spend time looking in the mirror if I didn't have to.

"Take Julie with you," you suggested.

Shopping with Julie sounded way more fun than shopping by myself. Maybe I could just help her pick out clothes instead of shopping for myself.

When I knocked on Julie's door to ask if she wanted to go shopping, she seemed excited and nervous, as if going shopping were something sneaky. "Um - yeah! Okay. I'll - I'll get my purse," she said, looking around her. She grabbed her purse and Zoe's diaper bag and stroller and with a huge grin, stepped out onto the porch and locked her door.

We went to the mall and it was the strangest feeling. I hadn't been here without Caleb in forever. The last time I went to the mall without him, I was pregnant with him. I know he's only seven months old, but I feel like he's been with me for years. But I haven't gotten older as he's grown. I'm just bigger and more tired.

But being at the mall with my friend made me feel young.

"Is there anything you need?" Julie asked as she pushed Zoe's stroller.

"Not really. I'm just happy to get out of the house," I shrugged.

I saw Julie looking in the windows of the same shops where I used to shop. Her gaze was a little bit longing.

"Want to go in?" I asked.

She gave a sad little frown. "I guess," she said. "But it's... it's kind of hard since Zoe. I don't like trying stuff on."

I looked at Julie in surprise. Julie's very small. She's a lot shorter than me and she moves like a bird: light-footed and skittish, barely disturbing the branches she lands upon. It was strange to hear that someone else was having a hard time feeling different since giving birth. I know a lot of women go through it, but no one I know. Hearing her say it made me feel safe.

"It's been hard for me too since Caleb," I said quietly.

She looked up at me and rested her teeth on her lower lip. She gave a little nod. She tugged on her sleeves and adjusted the hem of her shirt before softly clearing her throat. "We could get our makeup done instead," she offered. "Then we only have to be seen from the neck up."

From that moment on, I knew I could talk to Julie about anything and she'd understand.

We had our makeup done and even looked at jewelry in a department store. I was looking at a very pretty pair of gold earrings, wondering if I should get them for you for your birthday when Julie came over to me and said in quick, hushed words, "Brittany, I need to get home. Tim will be back at six."

I put the earrings back on the stand and nodded.

When we got back in the car, I was surprised to see it was only four thirty. But maybe Julie just wanted to get home in time to make a nice dinner for Tim.

* * *

><p>Just before Caleb's first Halloween, you and my mom went shopping for a costume for him. I love that you and my mom are so close, and I love all the attention you two shower him with. It was definitely hard to choose between the monkey, pumpkin, rabbit, and baby cow costumes you two brought home, but unfortunately Caleb can only wear one Halloween costume. He's seven and a half months old. He doesn't have parties to go to or pictures to post on his Facebook. He can't eat candy and usually he's asleep by the time it gets dark. He wakes up around eleven again, but he's usually asleep during prime trick-or-treating time. But you were <em>so<em> excited, I let you dress him up as a rabbit, place a carrot in his fist, and take a million pictures before we took him trick-or-treating in the neighborhood. After we had gone to only two houses, he fell asleep against your shoulder. I could tell you were really disappointed.

"Hey, let's go to Julie's house," I suggested, trying to perk you up. "Tim is on duty tonight and I bet Zoe is asleep. We can all have a glass of wine. I know you'll love her!"

You smiled and nodded. After going back to our house to get a bottle of wine and put more candy in the bowl on the doorstep, we made our way down the sidewalk, watching the little wizards and ghosts and superheroes weave between us. I don't know about you, but I was wondering what Caleb would dress up as in the years to come.

Julie was happy to see me, and even happier to finally meet you. Even though she's always quiet, her happiness can fill a room.

"Hi, Santana!" she said, tightening her grip on a very sleepy Zoe as she extended her other hand to you. "So glad to finally meet you! Come inside."

We walked in and Julie glanced behind us down the walkway, checking to make sure she wasn't shutting the door on any little witches or princesses or pirates. She invited us into her perfect living room and after Zoe let out a big lion yawn, she put her into her carseat and went to get three glasses for the wine we brought. Yoshi followed her around dutifully, looking up at her periodically as she trotted through the house. Julie opened the bottle and watched your face as she poured your glass. You smiled at her and delicately held up your hand when she'd poured enough.

I love that you already knew she's a gentle person and were being your softest, kindest self with her. You read people better than you think, you know.

I looked around the living room, curious how it looked to you. I like when I bring you to a place that's familiar to me for the first time, because I get to see it all over again. As I looked around the room I noticed Julie's honeymoon vase wasn't on the mantle.

"Hey, where's your honeymoon vase?" I asked.

Julie looked up at the mantle and blinked fast. "Oh, I just like to change things up sometimes," she said, waving her hand through the air. "Say when," she instructed, pouring my glass.

I thought it was a little strange that Julie had moved her favorite vase, but I didn't say anything. You were smiling and looking around. I know you'd like to have a house as beautiful and stylish as Julie's. Maybe when Caleb is a little older and things aren't so messy we can. But that won't be for a while. Caleb's pretty messy. And honestly, you're very stylish, but you're a little bit messy too.

We stayed at Julie's house long past trick-or-treating time. We stayed so long Caleb woke up for his first feeding of the night. We had thought to bring a bottle of wine, but not a bottle of formula, and I felt so silly. But Julie offered to lend us one of Zoe's. So far Caleb hadn't been picky about what kind of formula we gave him, so I accepted. Julie's feet whispered in and out of the kitchen, bringing him a warm bottle and us a plate of cookies.

We ate and sipped our wine for a while longer. Being around Julie, I know it's okay to take breaks from talking. It's always calm with her. Even you didn't rush the conversation. A little before midnight Julie quietly cleared the table and we knew that was our cue to leave. Even though you'd just met her, you gave her a hug goodbye. Julie is lovable like that. I have no idea why she doesn't have hundreds of friends. Maybe because she's quiet and most people don't listen very well. I hope I listen well enough.

* * *

><p>A few weeks later, I was cooking a new recipe for dinner, which I hadn't done since I was pregnant. When you saw me come home with the groceries, you grinned up at me from the couch. You hopped up and helped me put them away, looking at the things I had bought. "Cooking something new?" you asked.<p>

"Yeah," I grinned. "I'm going to kick you out in a minute and surprise you."

You kissed me on the cheek, resting your hands on my hips for a minute. "I can't wait."

Fifteen minutes later, several pans were bubbling on the stove.

"Britt!" you shrieked from the living room.

Startled, I dropped the lid of the pot in my hand and darted into the living room, wiping my hands on my jeans. You had yelled so loud, Caleb must be hurt.

But what I saw instead was Caleb, on his feet, looking over his shoulder at me with a gummy grin as he held himself up on the side of the coffee table. You were tilted forward on the couch, unsure if you should steady him or let him figure out how to stand by himself. You were beaming and anxious.

I gasped in amazement. Just when I think he'll never change, he does something miraculous that reminds me how quickly he is growing up.

"Caleb!" I cried. "Look at you!"

Caleb let out a laughing sigh, his hips wavering front to back as he pressed his sticky palms into the table. He looked at you for approval and you gave him the most loving, encouraging smile and a few claps followed by a soft, "Yay!"

Imitating you, he lifted his hands off the table to clap and immediately fell down on his butt with a diaper-muted thud. He was stunned for a second, looking up at me to gauge if he should be upset. I kept smiling, knowing if I looked worried he would start to cry.

"Good job, Caleb!" I said, bending down to scoop him up. "I guess we better make sure we get everything out of the way so you don't pull anything down on top of yourself now, huh?"

I snuggled Caleb to me and he rubbed his head into my shoulder as he grinned at you. I looked between the two of you and saw you were beaming, your eyes shining with tears. I cocked my head to the side and your tears brimmed.

"What is it, baby?" I asked, feeling the smile in my voice.

"He's getting so big," you sniffled. "I feel like tomorrow he's going to be pulling out of the driveway going to his Senior Prom."

I let out a sighing chuckle and sat down next to you, placing Caleb in your lap and rubbing his back as he leaned into you and let out a contented little hoot. He is getting big, Santana. And as he gets bigger, so does your love for him. I can't wait to watch both of you grow.

"You're going to look very handsome in a tux," you murmured into his hair as you kissed his head.

I looked at you and nodded. I heard a sizzle in the kitchen and remembered I'd been cooking. Patting you on the knee, I got up to finish cooking.

At dinner that night Caleb sat in his highchair across from us, grinning as he mashed cheerios and pieces of banana into his face and hair. After dinner we rinsed him off in the sink - he wanted a longer bath, but he was getting sleepy - and then put him in his snuggliest footie pajamas. You sat on the couch with him, giving him his nighttime bottle as you read _Goodnight Moon_. He stared at the pages, eyes wide as his jaw moved on its hinge as he drank. His hands opened and closed sporadically, sometimes lifting a few inches towards the book. His eyes were shiny beneath his long, dark eyelashes, and the little flecks of honey in his irises looked like tiny fireflies.

I know I don't say it enough, but our son really is the most beautiful child I've ever seen.

Your voice was so soft and velvety, it's easy to see why Caleb drifted off quickly, bottle falling from between his lips as he exhaled into sleep. You grinned up at me, content to just sit in the quiet with him in your arms. I love when you let yourself sit in the quiet. After a while you slowly twisted your torso and lay back on the armrest of the couch, bringing your feet up gradually so you wouldn't wake Caleb. He was sound asleep, his pudgy fist resting next to his cheek on your chest. As soon as you were settled on your back, adjusting your head a few times on the armrest, you let out a quiet sigh and closed your eyes. I looked around until I found Caleb's rabbit, setting it next to him before pulling a blanket over both of you, tucking it around both of your shoulders. You hummed an almost inaudible _thank you_ and pretty soon you dozed off too.

As I looked down at you holding our perfect boy, I realized I was having my first paradise moment in months. And as soon as I realized that, I realized that I was feeling happy enough to notice paradise moments when they happen. My whole body felt warm like a sunrise. If you hadn't looked so peaceful in sleep, I would have kissed you until dawn.


	6. The Ties That Bind

**Chapter 6: The Ties That Bind**

**A/N: Thanks to my betas, terriblemuriel and FrogsRcool :)**

* * *

><p>As the weather got cooler, Julie and I started making our own baby food for Caleb and Zoe. We'd go to the market and then cook and puree everything in Julie's kitchen, freezing plenty of jars so we wouldn't have to do it again for a while. It was fun to do that with her. And it was nice to talk to someone besides you who didn't get tired of mommy talk. She actually cared that Caleb was pulling himself up on everything now. He fell down every time he let go of the table or couch or chair, but he was really trying to walk.<p>

He was trying so hard to walk at Christmas time, even though he was just a little over nine months.

"What a little overachiever!" my mom always cooed when he tried. "He's gonna grow up to be just like his Mama, isn't he?" she said, scooping him up and adjusting the little Santa hat on his head.

Sometimes I wish my mom thought of me as an achiever too. But I guess next to you it's hard to look like I'm doing much. It's okay. That's how it's always been. And I never feel bad about it when it's just you and me. You make me feel special and important and successful, which I don't always understand. But other people just think of me as your wife. So many times at dinners and office parties I've been introduced by well-meaning colleagues and friends as "Santana's wife." I think the only really impressive thing I've done is give birth. And then I remember that millions of women have babies every year and then I don't feel so impressive.

"So what's it gonna be, Caleb?" my mom asked, sitting down on the couch with him perched on her knees. "Harvard or Yale?"

You scoffed. You and our friend Sasha have this thing about Harvard and Yale and which one is best.

"I will not have my son wearing that putrid crismon," you said. "And if Sasha sends us one more disgusting red and barf colored onesie I will uninvite her to his first birthday party."

But of course if Caleb got into Harvard - or any good school - I would wear gold and crimson. And so would you.

My mom laughed and bounced Caleb for a minute before asking, "Has Caleb had his first snow?"

You looked at me and raised your eyebrows to ask.

"Just between the car and the neighbor's house," I said

"But has he played in it?" my mom asked, her eyes wide.

I looked at you and shook my head.

My mom gasped in excitement and looked at Caleb. "Boy have we got a treat for you, little man!" she said.

Minutes later Caleb was wearing his little red snowsuit and mittens and a green hat with a pom-pom that my mom had knitted him as an early Christmas present. My mom carried him outside and we followed behind. I'm pretty sure you would have rather carried him because this was exciting, but my mom kind of always gets her way when she's excited. It's not that she really tries to take it from other people, she just forgets that this is as big for us as it is for her.

Caleb was thoroughly confused by the snow. After sitting in it for a few seconds, he frowned and looked up at me. I guess snow is pretty confusing to people who haven't seen it. I mean, where does it come from? Why is it so cold? Why does it turn to water when he puts it in his mouth? He was startled as he sat on the ground in his snowsuit, unsure if he should laugh or cry. He kept looking back at us for guidance. Finally he started patting his hand down into the snow with a few clumsy whomps. Then he let out a little giggle and you giggled back as you squatted down, talking pictures with your phone. Then you made a few little snowballs and stacked them on top of each other in front of Caleb, finding a few twigs to make a miniature snowman. He giggled and knocked it over and you laughed. I don't know who was more adorable.

This was my favorite holiday season so far. I was feeling much happier most days, and I had energy to go out and do things. Having Julie around made Christmas shopping and cookie baking even more fun. She had so many great ideas for what to get my family and friends. And even better were her ideas for how to decorate our house. Julie could make a fortune doing interior design if she wanted. Not only is her house magazine-photoshoot-ready at all times, but she managed to turn our baby-disaster house into a warm, Christmassey, baby-proof haven.

For Christmas Caleb got small gifts. Mostly. You made sure to tell everyone not to go overboard. He already has too many toys and he would be just as happy ripping up wrapping paper as he would be sitting in a new playhouse, so it was best to keep it simple. My sister gave him a stuffed giraffe with his name sewed on the hoof, and my dad gave him a wooden car he made himself from a block of wood. My mom had a little trouble not going overboard - as usual - and gave him a fancy toy piano. I think I already have a headache in anticipation of all the racket he'll make with it. But my absolute favorite gift was from your dad. He gave Caleb a copy of _The Little Engine That Could_ in Spanish: _La Pequeña Locomotora Que Si Pudo_. Inside he wrote something in Spanish, and when I asked you what it said, you said very quietly, trying not to get teary, _Dear Caleb Antonio, This was your Mama's favorite book as a little girl. The message has served her well. Happy first Christmas. Love, Abuelo Antonio._

I gave you a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek and then handed my sister the present I got her. But as I pictured you sitting on your dad's lap, sleepy and calm and listening to him read to you, I thought that perhaps the book should have been titled _The Little Heart That Could._

* * *

><p>The day after Julie and Tim got back from visiting Tim's parents in Michigan, I strapped Caleb into his stroller, pulled on his hat, and tied my shoes, checking to make sure I remembered to bring Zoe's spare bottle back to Julie's house. They were probably finishing lunch, and if we were lucky, Caleb and Zoe would nap at the same time. But when I knocked on Julie's door, she didn't answer. Her car was in the driveway and Zoe's stroller was on the porch. I knocked again and she still didn't answer. I stood on my tiptoes and peered in the little window at the top of the door. Inside I could clearly see Julie's purse in its place on the hall table, and right next to it was her keys. I rang the doorbell, thinking maybe she just didn't hear me knock, but she didn't answer. As I was about to leave, I got a text message from her that said, <em>Sorry, not feeling well today.<em>

That seemed weird. I texted her back. _Do you need anything? I'm a nurse :)_

She wrote back, _No thanks :) Just having an off day. _

I have off days too. But I'm usually okay being around Julie on those days. It made me sad to think maybe she wasn't okay with being around me when she felt off.

Julie felt "off" the next few days too and I really started to miss and worry about her. But she assured me she was fine and that she and Zoe were just resting up for Zoe's birthday.

I saw Julie the next week and she seemed okay. We were taking turns helping each other go through the babies' closets and taking things out that were too small so it would be easier to dress Caleb and Zoe. As we did, we chatted and I offered to help plan a little birthday party for Zoe. Julie just let out a forced giggle and said she wouldn't know who to invite. I felt bad for her. There's no reason for her not to have more friends. She's one of the sweetest people in the world. So when Zoe's birthday came, I made a little carrot cake and brought it to their house. Zoe mashed the cake into her face hungrily while Caleb, poor thing, was stuck with pureed carrots and some yogurt. His tummy probably wasn't ready for cake. As Julie and I ate, Julie stared down at her plate. I thought maybe she was sad because she didn't have people to invite to Zoe's birthday party, so I just put my hand on hers.

"I don't have that many friends either," I said.

She looked at me and gave me a pained smile. She took another bite. Once she swallowed, she took a breath and said, "I thought I was pregnant. But I'm not."

My chest felt heavy as I watched Julie try not to look sad. I remember feeling that way more than a few times. You and I tried for almost a year before Caleb decided he was ready.

"Aw, Julie..." I said. "I'm sorry."

Julie gave a little shrug. "It's okay."

I bit my lip because I wasn't sure if I should say something about waiting so long for Caleb. Julie's sadness might not be like mine. But Julie seemed so much lonelier lately, and I didn't want her to feel that way.

"I've been there," I offered. "We tried for Caleb for almost a year. We had a lot of disappointments along the way."

Julie took another bite and set down her fork. She kept her eyes on her plate and said, "Tim's not disappointed."

I felt even sadder when she said that and I had no idea what to say. It would have been so much harder to feel sad that I wasn't pregnant if you hadn't been sad with me. But I was confused about why Tim wasn't disappointed.

"Doesn't he want another baby?" I asked.

Julie gave a shrug with one shoulder. "He always talked about having a son. But I don't really think he wants another baby."

"Why?" I asked.

Julie pursed her lips and gave me a shrug that meant she knew but didn't want to say. She took a bite and asked how our Christmas had been and if Caleb liked the striped zebra Zoe gave him. Taking her cue to drop the subject of the baby, I assured her that he did.

* * *

><p>A few days later you came home from work very tense. I could sense it right away when you walked in the door. You didn't relax when you took off your shoes, which meant something was really wrong.<p>

"Hard day?" I asked, scanning your body for more clues about what was wrong. Hunched shoulders meant stress, but I didn't see them.

"It was okay," you shrugged. "The usual. Not enough time with you and Caleb," you said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

The kiss was supposed to reassure me, but it didn't. It was too short. Caleb couldn't tell that yet though. He grinned and reached to grab the necklace you wore with his name engraved on it. He loves to yank on it when you hold him. That and your hair, which you usually tie in a knot at the base of your neck when you get home.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Your shoulders slumped. You wanted more time before you had to tell me.

"Well... it's not that big a deal. And really, it can wait if it has to. But I found out today that my boobs have expired."

I would have laughed if you hadn't looked so sheepish.

"I went to the doctor and the saline implant in my left breast is leaking. That's why it's smaller than the right."

I was surprised. I don't really remember you have implants most of the time. You just have the same fabulous boobs you've had since we were teenagers that haven't started to sag like mine. I never thought about them having problems any more than I think about my own, which never goes past doing a monthly self-exam.

I knew that eventually you'd probably have to get them switched out. But I guess the timing just snuck up on me.

One time in college we talked about your implants and how you kind of regretted getting them. But at the same time, you didn't. You like the way they look and the way they make you feel, but you don't like feeling like other people will judge you for having them.

"Your boobs will never expire, Santana," I said.

You let out a forced chuckle.

"So you have to fix it soon?" I asked.

You sighed and slumped down on the couch, nodding. "It just seems like a terrible time, with work, and since Caleb's so small... I wouldn't be able to help with him for a few weeks. I wouldn't even be able to hold him. That seems like torture."

The thought of not holding Caleb for even a day made my chest hurt, so I could understand why you were upset.

You let your head fall back on the couch cushion. You put your hand to the side of your face. "So fucking stupid of me..." you said. "I mean, I might not have been able to afford fixing this..."

I took a breath, staying calm for you. "Don't beat yourself up," I said quietly as I sat down next to you, pulling Caleb towards my torso. "You love your boobs, remember?"

You smiled a little bit through your dread. "I do love my boobs," you mumbled.

Caleb wriggled around, reaching for you. He's been incredibly restless these past few months as he gets increasingly mobile. It's exhausting and seemed out of place in this conversation. But I guess he makes all serious conversations feel out of place when he's in a good mood.

"Are you going to have them taken out or are you going to replace them?" I asked. I was genuinely curious. I didn't know what you'd say.

"I think... I think I'll replace them," you said. But your brow wrinkled a bit and I knew you weren't certain.

"You should be sure," I said.

"What do you think I should do?" you asked, turning your head toward me. Your eyes were soft and pleading. You wanted someone to make the right decision for you. Wouldn't it be great if we could have other people make our decisions for us, knowing they'd be right? But we can't.

"I think you should do what makes you happy," I said. I tilted my head to look at you in a way that let you know I meant it. "I'll love your boobs either way."

"Promise?" you asked.

Caleb was sticking his fingers in my mouth and scratching my nose, but I still managed to nod. "Promise."

Two weeks later you had your surgery. Being a nurse certainly didn't help me feel calmer. I know the dangers of cosmetic surgery now and I didn't last time. Last time I just casually handed you pill bottles when you asked for them, too young to know exactly what you were taking or how strong it was. But now I knew enough to make sure you didn't take too much, and I knew what you were allowed to do in terms of bathing and lifting. I knew it was important to take your temperature and to ice on and off for twenty minutes each for the first few days. I knew we might hear gurgling or squeaking in the first week or two, which for some reason was the most sickening thing of all.

It was strange seeing you so stoned on pills. Normally you are so alert, your reflexes sharper than a cat's. But now you were slow and even being in the room with you made my head feel fuzzy. And I was always worried Caleb would try to grab you and hurt you. I didn't let him in our bedroom for the first week, but you got so sad. You even cried a few times, a slow, gasping kind of crying that I'm sure was exacerbated by all the drugs. "I just want to hold my baby!" you blubbered. "I miss him so much!"

So I let Caleb come stand by the side of the bed. As he held himself up he could touch your arm and grab your hand and the sheets, but he couldn't pull himself onto the bed or touch your chest. You stroked his head and kept crying, sniffling and talking to him in Spanish_. _Caleb looked back at you with big eyes, periodically babbling and slapping the bed with his hand, as if to say,_ Get up, Mama! I want to play with you! _Before he went to bed each night I'd hold him up to you so you could pepper his face with kisses.

Julie was a godsend while you were recovering. She came over with Zoe every day to help cook and clean, never venturing upstairs except when invited. She's polite like that, and she didn't know if you wanted visitors. You asked to see her once, and I hovered in the doorway, making sure Caleb and Zoe didn't come bother you while you were talking to her.

Your words were very slurred and you could hardly keep your eyes open, but you managed to mumble, "Thankso mudge, Julie. Lemme know'f you ever need summun t' tay care'f you, kay?"

Julie kept her voice low as she bent over you so you wouldn't have to speak loud. "Of course, Santana. I'd be spending time with Brittany and Caleb anyway." Even though her back was to me, I could hear her smile. "Do you need more water? Are the blinds okay?"

"Mm'fine," you said, sighing as you sank deeper into the pillows that propped you up. "Juss keep Britt company..."

And Julie absolutely did. Her quiet, warm presence was so nice in our house. I wished she would come over more often instead of me always going to her house.

You went back to work after two weeks and things went back to normal for the most part, though you still couldn't hold Caleb. We still couldn't have sex either, but our sex life has been kind of dumbed down for the past year and a half anyway. First you were scared of hurting Caleb when he was really small inside me, and I was feeling so sick, so we didn't have much sex. Second trimester was great, but after a while I started feeling huge and tired and it became physically awkward. Third trimester was a whirlwind of moving and getting married and patiently waiting and feeling huge. And then after Caleb was born I had to heal for a while, and we were exhausted anyway. I guess that's all normal. We were bound to slow down at some point. And we do have sex. It's just hushed and quick and under the covers at night when we can stay awake for ten more minutes. It's not bad, but it's not great.

A month after your surgery you were doing well. The surgeon gave you permission to lift and carry Caleb, who is eleven months now and so big and wiggly he's hard to carry. You were overjoyed. One day I left Caleb with Hayley for a few hours so Julie and I could go to a yoga class and then pick out paint chips for her guest bathroom. When I came home, the house was absolutely silent. It was odd; Hayley is usually so happy to be with Caleb, she's singing or laughing, and if he's sleeping, she's watching TV or - bless her - doing the dishes. And even when it's just you and Caleb, he's babbling pretty much nonstop now, and our house is filled with gurgles and shrieks and funny noises when he sucks in air. But now it was eerily silent. I walked through the living room and I was about to call out when I saw you fast asleep on the couch with Caleb curled on top of you. I swear you were almost smiling in your sleep. You were so happy to be able to hold him again, you were trying to make up for lost time. You must have come home early just to be with him. I took a few pictures on my phone, sending them to my parents and your dad before slinking into the kitchen. Instead of making noise and waking either of you up, I ordered a pizza and defrosted a few jars of homemade baby food for dinner. You grinned at me through the entire meal.

When Caleb went down for the night - we hoped, at least - you turned to me with a more serene smile. "What do you want to do next week?" you hummed.

I mentally scanned through my calendar, seeing Valentine's day in the center of the month and a little reminder that Caleb's birthday was on the eighth of March. But then I remembered the first big day on the calendar: our wedding anniversary. The first of endless anniversaries I get to spend with you. I gave you a smile that made my eyes crinkle up and leaned towards you. "Whatever you want, S," I whispered.

You always seem to think the things we do and places we go are important. But I think the intention is most important; just setting a time to celebrate who we are as a couple and how far we've come. I can celebrate that whenever I want, but having a day we both plan to celebrate is important too.

"I was thinking," you said, pulling me closer, your smile spreading unevenly into a playful smirk, "that Caleb could have his first sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa Pierce's house." You leaned into my neck and placed a kiss on the side. "He's almost one and he sleeps through the night most of the time," you said. "And we need it." You kissed my neck again and I knew what you were asking for.

When our anniversary came and you recreated our bedroom like it had been for our honeymoon, I should have swooned before picking you up and tossing you on the bed. But I didn't. I wished I could be another version of me, the version that used to do sexy role playing games and not think twice about pulling out a pair of handcuffs or a strap-on. But I feel like my sense of sexual adventure has been watered down to the point where I don't even recognize myself. That's why I was really glad when you leaned into me.

There's a certain way you lean into me when you want to have slow, gentle sex. You part your lips and they tremble just a tiny bit, barely visible as you lean within inches of my face. You hover, letting your eyes fall to my lips and cheeks as you wait for me to close the gap. Your gaze rests heavy on my face and I feel so, so beautiful. I feel my heart flutter and my face turn a tiny bit pink as I smile. I always wait a few seconds, because your love is so palpable, the air between us feels warmer. As soon as I connect our lips, you thread your hand through my hair and press me into you and my insides turn to mush. I feel like a teenager again, like we're seventeen and I can still count on my fingers and toes how many times you've told me you love me out loud. Even your hand behind my head pressing me into your mouth doesn't feel like enough. I want to be completely absorbed by you and the heart you finally let beat without reservation.

I wanted to be absorbed into you this time, but at the same time I wanted to hide. Being with you for the past decade means you know my body better than anyone in the world. And you have noticed the changes in my body more than anyone in the world. If I don't look in the mirror, I don't have to see them. But when I'm naked with you, you become my mirror. I'm afraid of what I might see.

We stood in the middle of the room kissing for a few minutes. That was nice. Calming, like a warm bath, but still exciting. I love kissing you. But when you undressed me, still standing there in the middle of the room, my first instinct was to cover my chest. You gave me a little frown and tried to move my hands.

I gave you a forced smile and a little gasp of apology.

You kissed slowly down my neck to my chest. Having you near my boobs felt weird because even though I wasn't producing milk anymore, they felt so, so different than before Caleb. I wish my body was frozen in time back when we first started having sex. Well not really. For the most part sex has just gotten better as the years wore on. Not always, but my body certainly learned to do new and improved things. My orgasms have gotten better and longer and I've started using my imagination more. But I don't feel as toned and strong and flexible as I once did. That's what I miss.

I didn't even realize I had pulled away when you looked up at me with a sad, almost scared expression. "What's wrong?"

I thought about all the ways I could answer your question. I could use my usual_ I'm too tired_. I could tell you my back was hurting or I had a headache. But I hate lying to you. I've only done it a few times. I'm not perfect.

But it was our wedding anniversary, which I think is a very, very bad time to tell lies. So I flexed my hands and tried to hold them at my sides, not covering myself up. I could hardly move my mouth to say the words, and they sounded stiff. "I don't like the way I look."

The expression on your face was so sad and loving I had a hard time looking at you.

"Brittany, I love your body..." you murmured.

"I don't," I muttered. "It's been almost a year and I still feel all stretched out like an old balloon."

"Brittany..." you cooed, as if trying to soothe me out of a momentary insecurity. But this wasn't momentary. This had been lodged inside me for months upon months upon months. I had to cross my arms over my stomach just so I could keep standing there.

You cupped my face and stared into me, trying to find the bad feeling stuck inside. "Britt, your body is _amazing_."

I started to cry a little bit. I felt awful. We had tried to make this special, taking Caleb to my parents', going out to a nice dinner, putting on more makeup than usual... and now all that effort was wasted because I was getting emotional over something that had been going on for a long time. My timing was so terrible.

"Britt, think of all the amazing things your body has done. You made a whole _person_," you said, a little smile tugging on the left side of your face. "The most amazing person in the world. And you gave _birth_." You rubbed my cheek with your thumb. "I've never done either of those things."

I started to cry harder because you weren't understanding. "But those things aren't sexy! Those things don't make you want to throw me on the bed and have your way with me..."

You tilted your head forward to look up into my eyes. "Is that what you want me to do?" you asked. Your voice was just the right amount of playful and gentle.

I shook my head and took a halting, shuddering breath before speaking again. As I spoke, I realized what I was really crying about. "I feel like all I get to be now is a mom."

Your face fell. "Britt, you are so much more than a mom," you whispered. "You are an incredible woman with a big heart. You're a nurse and a wonderful partner and someone who accepts everyone just the way they are." You paused for a moment, watching as I tried to blink away my tears. "And when you want me to, I will gladly throw you down on the bed and have my way with you."

I tipped forward on my feet so I could nestle my head on your shoulder, my face buried in your hair. But I still didn't know how to make love to you when I didn't want to show myself.

You wrapped your arms around me and your words nestled into the skin of my neck.

"Britt, I want to tell you something."

I closed my eyes and nodded, ready for whatever you had to tell me.

"I love women," you said. Your voice was very serious and low, as if this were your deepest, darkest secret.

I let out a tiny laugh, relieved you were trying to break the tension.

"No, I'm serious," you pressed. You pulled back so you could look me in the eye. "I love women. Not just the way most people love women. I love everything about them." You paused for a moment, a smile wavering on your lips. "When I was little I used to look at my dad's _National Geographics_. If there was a picture I liked I would tear it out and tape it to my wall. One time when I was six, my mom came in my room and saw I had taped up all these pictures of aboriginal women and she totally freaked out."

I had to giggle at that. It was pretty funny imagining Dolores going bug-eyed and rattling on in Spanish as she took down all your pictures while you pouted and stamped your feet and yelled back at her in your high-pitched angry little girl voice.

You smiled back at me. "So when I say I love women, I really mean it. I find women beautiful and sexy in so many ways. Yeah, lingerie models are nice to look at. But so are women who aren't skinny or airbrushed. I love women who are round and curvy. I love women who aren't curvy at all. I love pregnant women. And I love women..." you leaned into me, hovering over my lips with that same intensity as before, "with stretchmarks."

I exhaled into you and let myself eventually be pulled onto the bed. For the first time in a long time, I let go with you. It wasn't about who did what to who or who was taking who's clothes off. It wasn't about having an orgasm. It was just about getting as close to possible to each other and then wishing we could be closer.

It's hard to piece every part of lovemaking together. The soft, feathered texture of your lips, how warm they are and how slippery they get when we kiss. And how I feel a flutter in my belly when you squeeze my ass. The little things are simple and easy to understand. But all the pieces together make me feel infinite.

You know that feeling when you close your eyes and it's dark and all you can see is the inside of your eyelids, but you feel like you can see the whole universe? That's what sex with you feels like. I know it's just a very small, private thing we share, but it feels bigger than anything else I ever feel.

You were quickly getting worked up as our hands roamed over each other. It was so good to see that I still had that electric effect on you, even after having been together for twelve years. When you sat up with a playful smirk, I was surprised. It didn't seem like we needed to talk to communicate.

"I want to do something we haven't done in a long time," you murmured. Your voice was low and surprisingly scratchy.

You went and sat in the middle of the bed, turning around to face me. You put your hands on my hips and guided me towards you, sliding one of your legs over my hip and the other one under, scooting toward me. I smiled back. It _had_ been a long time. As our centers met, you leaned back on your hands, groaning as we started sliding and rocking together.

I knew I was totally open to you now. It felt like another first time. You could see every part of my body I had tried to hide. And somehow, using your words and your body, you made me feel okay about that. Letting you see me as everything I am now was freeing. I want it to always be like this.

When I came, the burst inside me felt like it had no way to escape, and I just kept coming, twisting and pulling at my bindings. When I finally fell back down, you slid on top of me, panting and sticky and grinning.

When I could breathe evenly, you tucked me into your hips, letting me be the little spoon. As I started to drift off to sleep a few minutes later, you whispered in my ear, "You know what I want, B?" Your breath was still labored and warm against the side of my face.

I hummed a response, letting you know I was listening.

"A hundred more years of _that_."

I pulled your arm over my torso, grinning and turning my head back to kiss you. "Deal," I said.

* * *

><p>We both slept through the night and woke to sunlight streaming through our gauzy white curtains. Somehow we had come un-spooned in the night, and you rolled into me, kissing my sleep-damp neck and running your hand over my naked stomach.<p>

"Morning," you whispered, your voice soft and hoarse from our first baby-free night's sleep since Caleb was born. I rolled onto my back and tilted my chin up, puckering my lips for a kiss. You bent down and rested your lips against mine for a moment.

"You know what I was thinking?" you murmured, propping yourself up on your elbow as you smiled down at me.

"That we should go again before we have to pick up Caleb?" I grinned.

"Well yes," you said, your smile growing impish. "But I was also thinking about your sister."

I gave you an amused frown. "You were thinking about having sex with Hayley?" I love when you phrase things in a funny way and I can make jokes about it.

"Gross, Britt," you said, batting me on the arm. "No, I was thinking about how terrible her job is and how she's always upset about it. And just now I was thinking about how you're feeling like all you get to do is be a mom." You paused and bit your lip thoughtfully for a moment. "What if we could fix Hayley's job and you feeling stuck at the same time?"

I could tell you had a plan, but you weren't being specific yet. I just looked at you and waited for you to explain.

"What if you went back to work and we hired Hayley to be with Caleb so she could afford to leave her job?"

I had been thinking I was almost ready to go back to work. I'd even looked at a few job postings. The agency I worked for before Caleb was born is always calling and emailing to see if I'm available. There's no shortage of hospice nurse jobs, that's for sure, and some of the assignments sounded really lovely. I'd feel even better about going back to work knowing I was leaving Caleb with my sister and I was making her life happier. Hayley would send me pictures throughout the day and Caleb would be over the moon to be with his favorite aunt. It was a brilliant idea.

I pulled you down to meet my lips again, smiling to let you know I liked your idea.

* * *

><p>After a wonderful morning in bed with you, I went to pick Caleb up from my parents' before going to visit Julie. I usually visit her on the days Tim works. He seems to work a lot, but that's nice for me, since Julie can only hang out when he is at work. Julie answered the door looking tired, but her usual calm smile and her words of welcome were reassuring.<p>

We played with our babies in her living room and I told her about our nice anniversary dinner the night before. She asked lots of questions about the restaurant and how Caleb had done on his first overnight with his grandparents. She always thinks to ask lots of questions that other people wouldn't think or care about. That's one of the things I like about her.

We fed our babies - were they still babies? Zoe was walking and Caleb was close - lunch in Julie's kitchen. Caleb got peas and applesauce and banana all over, and Zoe wasn't much cleaner. As Julie leaned over Zoe to wipe her face and hands, Zoe grabbed at Julie's shirt and pulled it up.

My whole body froze when I saw that Julie's side was purple and blue with hints of green and yellow around the edges. I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't stop myself from gasping.

A cold, sick feeling slithered through my whole body as I looked at the colors soaked into Julie's skin. My side hurt just looking at it. Working in rape crisis when we lived in New Haven, I saw pictures and heard stories. As a nurse I'm trained to assess for domestic violence. There was no way a bruise that big happened on accident. Someone had hit her. Or punched her. Or kicked her.

Someone had hurt the most gentle person in the world while I was only a block away.

Every odd thing about Julie made sense now: the reason she didn't have friends, the reason her house was so clean, the missing vase, the constant worry with when Tim would be home, the "off" days. Julie was living in fear of the person who had vowed to love and cherish her for the rest of her life.

Julie yanked her shirt down and turned to me, eyes wide and horrified that I had seen.

"Julie..." I whispered, letting the air out of my lungs as my body went cold.

"I fell!" she said, her words rushed and louder than usual.

I bit my lips, looking at her and wondering what I could say that would let her know it was okay to tell me, that she _needed_ to tell me. She needed help. But the only thing I did was shake my head.

After a moment, I swallowed and tried to keep my voice even. "Have you fallen a lot since you got married?"

Julie looked at me, her eyes scared as she started to cry. "He's a good man, Brittany!" she pleaded, as if saying it hard enough would make it true. "He saves lives every day!"

There were so many things I wanted to say to her, but I felt sick and I hated the way she was defending him. I wanted to tell her no man who beats his wife could be a good man. I wanted to say saving lives doesn't make up for causing someone to live in fear. I wanted to say that I have never hated someone I hadn't met with such passion before. But I couldn't say that. I was only supposed to say polite things. That's what Julie's comfortable with.

My throat was dry as I tried to swallow. "Julie... if you _ever_ need help..."

I looked at her, trying to bore my way through her denial and let her know how deeply I care for her. She was - _is_ - my best friend. She looked away and nodded.

"Santana too. Whatever you need... money, a place to stay, legal help..."

Julie's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Don't tell her," she whispered. "_Don't_ tell Santana. She'll _do_ something." She shuddered and closed her eyes for a second. "If he ever found out I told you..." her gaze flitted to the furthest corner and she paled, swallowing.

I was stuck. On the one hand, I knew her secret now and it's not exactly the kind of thing that slips your mind like forgetting to pick up milk at the grocery story. I was so angry I wanted to march over to the police station and find the man who matched the pictures on Julie's walls and beat the shit out of him. But I also saw just how terrified Julie was, knowing I knew and I could very well make her life _more_ of a living hell. I wanted her to know I would never do anything that meant she risked getting hit again.

I swallowed.

"You didn't tell me anything," I murmured. My voice was dry and scratchy like a towel left to dry in the sun.

Julie shuddered and I thought she would start to cry harder. But she took a deep breath and plastered her desperate smile on. I knew she wanted me to leave.

"I think Caleb's getting sleepy," I said, shifting my attention away from her attempts to stifle every awful feeling. She was probably used to stifling her feelings into her perfect house and the perfect family everyone thought she had. "I should take him home."

Julie let out a quiet sigh of relief. "Yeah, I think Zoe's sleepy too."

Zoe was babbling to herself in her high chair, a ring of plastic keys wet between her gums. She was alert as ever.

I took Caleb out of the extra high chair Julie had "found" a month after we started hanging out and held him close to me. I picked up his diaper bag and held it tight to my body with my elbow. I wanted to give Julie a hug, to tell her I love her and care about her and that I didn't want her to live the way she was living. But I was afraid to hug her because I didn't want to touch her bruise and hurt her. So I just looked at her and tried to tell her with my eyes before leaving.

Holding Caleb to me tightly to ward off the cold and the sick feeling in my stomach, I walked as fast as I could back to our house. I closed the door and locked it, putting one hand behind Caleb's head as I leaned against the door. I know it sounds silly, but closing and locking the door felt like the only thing I could do to keep the bad things that happen in the world from sneaking into our house and our family.

I know bad things happen to good people. I _know_ that. Bad things have happened to me and to you, so of course I know that. But we never expect bad things to happen. We shouldn't, that would be a terrible way to live. So when something like this happens to someone I care about, I start to pull away from the world. It just hurts too much. Julie doesn't deserve to get hit. Zoe doesn't deserve to live in that house. Julie's husband doesn't deserve to know her.

But then I thought about the times I'd been angry. There have been times I was so, so mad at you, I felt like my body was taking over my mind and I wanted to hit something. Not necessarily you, but something. You are the person I love most in the world, the person I've always known I wanted to marry and have children with, and I could never hit you. But we've had our moments when I felt consumed with anger. I guess it's true when they say that the people closest to us have the biggest effect on us. I have felt every feeling in the world towards you. The good and the bad. That's what makes you special to me.

But there was a huge, huge difference between me feeling angry at you and what Tim was doing.

I don't know how long I was leaning against the door, but I was startled by the sound of your keys. I leapt away from it, still clinging to Caleb as I backed away, watching as the knob turned and you walked in. You were surprised that I was standing right there.

"Hey," you said with a cheerful smile. "There's my favorite people in the world! Waiting for me at the door!"

I was sure I was pale as a sheet as you took a few steps towards me and kissed me on the cheek before nuzzling Caleb and saying a few gooey words in Spanish to him.

"You okay?" you asked, setting down your briefcase and slipping off your shoes.

I swallowed and tried to nod. "I was thinking about going for a walk but I decided it was too cold."

"Aw, okay," you said. "What's for dinner?"

I took a breath and I know it left too much space before my answer. "I think we have leftover chicken casserole."

"My favorite," you said, slipping off your blazer.

As I watched you hang your blazer up and walk into the kitchen, I wanted to tell you about Julie so badly. Not telling you felt like a huge lie, like hiding a feeling you could have helped me with, or at least shared. But I had promised her I wouldn't tell you, and I understood why she wanted me to promise not to. But I had absolutely no idea how I was going to keep going and not feel like I was betraying one of you.


	7. Truth and Lies and Everything In Between

**Chapter 7: Truth and Lies and Everything In Between**

**A/N: **Several people have asked about the domestic violence plot and how far I plan to go with it. Others have expressed curiosity as to why I didn't include a trigger warning. I hope that no one was triggered by the chapter and if you were, I'm deeply sorry. I didn't include a trigger warning because I feel it spoils the story, and I also believe the M rating is a general trigger warning.

Without giving too much away, the domestic violence plot will be around for a while. It's a complicated issue, and right now Julie's not contemplating leaving. That being said, I promise that the violence will never be written about explicitly. Her injuries may be described, but never witnessed. Hopefully that's enough distance for all of you. If you have concerns or need to know more specifics for your own safety, shoot me a message. I want to make readers aware and perhaps uncomfortable because this is very real and very common, but I don't want anyone to feel unhinged.

For anyone who is struggling with issues related to domestic violence, I recommend rainn dot org as a source for information and support.

**Thanks to my betas, terriblemuriel, FrogsRcool and PrairieJane! Also, follow me on Tumblr and join the conversation after each chapter! Lingeringlilies dot tumblr dot com!**

* * *

><p>I went back to Julie's house two days later. I wanted to go the next day, but Tim was there so I couldn't. I wanted to go, but at the same time I didn't. I wanted to go and be with the same Julie that I had gone to visit countless times before. But now she was different in my mind. Not bad different. Just fragile different, like I had to tiptoe around her and make sure I didn't scare her or upset her.<p>

But _I_ was scared and upset. I was scared and upset that Julie was living with such a painful secret. I was scared and upset that Zoe might have seen her mom get hit, or worse, been hurt herself. And I was scared and upset that I didn't have anyone to talk to about how scared and upset I was. I wanted to tell you so badly, but I had promised Julie I would keep her secret. So I had to pretend things were exactly the same as they had been two days before when I walked to Julie's house.

But things weren't the same. Even Caleb knew that. Usually he was so happy when I put on his coat and stuck him on my hip to walk down the block. But not today. He must have been able to feel my heart thudding under my coat as we walked, because he stuck out his lower lip and let out a few little scared whimpers as we braved the cold to go visit our friends. You call that little scared whimper "the saddest noise in the world." And it really is heartbreaking to hear. Our boy is sensitive like you.

Julie looked surprised when she answered the door, as if she hadn't expected me to come over like i usually did when Tim was working. I plastered on a smile and she fidgeted a little as we exchanged hellos. I stepped inside, took off Caleb's hat, and set down his diaper bag. We played with the babies in the living room for a little bit, but that was hard because the conversation felt so forced. I noted how well Zoe was walking and she assured me Caleb would be soon. Everything Zoe did, Caleb wanted to do. When Zoe played with blocks, Caleb wanted to play with blocks. When Zoe toddled over to her mom, Caleb pulled himself up on his feet but fell over when he tried to walk. I was so glad when the babies fell asleep. I know we could have talked in code while they were awake, but I didn't want to. Hiding behind code was kind of like hiding her secret. I didn't want her to feel like she had to hide anything from me.

She offered me lunch and even though I had already eaten, I accepted because it gave us something to do besides just sitting and trying to find things to talk about. It used to be so easy between us and silence used to be okay. But now the silence crawled into my chest and made my shoulders hunch up to my ears.

I took a bite of my turkey sandwich before deciding I couldn't wait one more minute. I had to talk about it.

"So... how long has it been happening?" I said as I bent down to pick up a few stray cheerios from the floor.

Julie took a long time to respond, chewing slower than usual so she could think of how to answer. "A while, I guess." She shrugged as if it were nothing, but her eyes cut away from me like yours do when you're afraid to tell me the truth.

I nodded, putting the cheerios on the table and flicking at my sandwich bread with my pointer finger. I couldn't remember anything I had wanted to say, and I knew better than to ask her how long_ a while_ was. I just knew I wanted Julie to talk about it so she wouldn't feel like she was dying because of a secret she was keeping. I've kept secrets. My secrets always made me feel more alone than any amount of distance ever could.

The beautiful facade had been ripped off Julie's house. Off Julie too. I wanted to know everything about the under layers. I needed to know her and I needed to know if there was any way I could help. And to know that, I needed to know how she felt.

"Do you love him?" I asked.

Julie seemed startled. She glanced around for a moment before her eyes alighted on a framed photo of her and Tim saying their wedding vows. "I do."

My heart sank when she said it because I knew she meant it. She really loved him. And that meant this was a million times harder.

"What do you love about him?" I asked. It was hard to ask. But I wanted to know her.

She blinked a few times. "He's very dependable. He makes me laugh a lot. I know he'll always take care of me and Zoe." She looked at a picture of her daughter and let a little smile trace her lips. "He's very handsome. And he can be so romantic. And strong."

I wanted to say he was using his strength in the worst way, but I knew Julie didn't mean that kind of strength.

She kept talking. "You know that feeling when you're in a man's - well, I guess not a man's, but someone's - arms and you just feel so special and held and protected?"

I do know that feeling. That feeling is called home. It's who I love and where I'm safe. And you are all those things to me.

"That's what I have with Tim."

I couldn't imagine Julie feeling safe with Tim, but I nodded anyway.

I tried to imagine being in Tim's arms. Not literally, but what it must feel like for Julie. I imagine that I would feel frayed around the edges, always alert and ready to jump if he seemed like he was about to get angry. Hearing a door close would make me nervous. Hearing a plate clank against another would make me cringe. I don't know if I could ever feel entirely safe, no matter how much I loved the person holding me.

"Do you feel safe?" I asked.

She swallowed. "Usually."

I took a bite and chewed. Finally I had to say it. "You should always feel safe with your husband, Julie."

She looked down at her plate and said very quietly, "I know."

"Does anyone else know?"

She shook her head.

I thought back to my training about domestic violence in nursing school. They always talked about safety plans. A place to go, money, people to help you. "Do you have any family nearby?" I asked. I knew her parents were in New Hampshire, but I didn't know about aunts and uncles and cousins.

She shook her head. "No. They all live in New Hampshire."

I bit my lip and nodded. "What about money?" I asked.

She let out a little scoff. "How do you think we could afford this house?" she asked, her voice catching a bit in her throat. I could tell I was upsetting her. "The down payment was my parents' wedding gift to us."

"No, I mean, do _you_ have any money?"

Julie shook her head. She was getting really agitated and I felt so bad. Of course I already felt awful for her, but now I was making things worse. So I just said that.

"I know you really don't want to talk about it. But... I feel like I didn't react very well the other day. And I wish I'd been able to say that I'm so sorry you're in this situation and I wish I could fix it. I would do anything to help you, okay? Anything."

Julie dropped her head. "Just _please_ don't tell," she whispered.

I knew she was afraid Tim would be angry that I had found out. But I felt like there was more. Aside from whatever shame or guilt she might feel, there was fear beyond that too. "Why don't you report him?"

"Because I love him!" she said, snapping her head back up. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she looked almost angry. "I would never do that to him!"

I knew I'd crossed a line, so I nodded an apology. "Okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like you're doing something wrong. You're not."

She lowered her head again and picked at her sandwich. "It's not like anyone would believe me, anyway. He's a cop and everyone in his department respects him. They'd say I was lying."

That hurt my chest to hear. I had seen that bruise myself. Bruises don't lie. "I believe you," I said.

She nodded, staring at her plate. A tear fell down her face and she quickly wiped it away. "I can't do anything to make him mad."

I couldn't help but think of that giant bruise under her pretty floral shirt. Again, my side hurt just thinking about it. I wondered what else she had had to cover up because of her marriage.

"If you ever need medical help, I'm a nurse," I offered. I know it sounds weird, but I really wanted to help her in whatever way she'd let me. If that meant looking at bruises and cuts and scrapes, I didn't care. I wanted to heal her in whatever way I could. She deserved to have someone take care of her the way she had taken care of me. Even if she didn't know she had taken care of me. Her friendship had healed me.

Julie nodded again. "I'll be okay."

I wanted to believe her so badly, but I wasn't sure I could. I felt a part of me was tied to her, kind of in the same way I'm tied to you and Caleb and my sister and my parents. I'm not very good at knowing where I stop and other people start sometimes. So if Julie wasn't okay, I didn't know how I could be okay. All I could do was be with her whenever I could and try to show her that she is a person worthy of being loved in a way that doesn't hurt.

I took Julie's hand across the table and she flinched a little under my touch. Maybe she wasn't used to someone touching her without wondering if they would hurt her.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Julie. Not even Santana. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. But I want you to know that no matter what, I'll be your friend. Bruises and all."

Julie closed her eyes and for a second I thought she might ask me to leave. Then she very subtly squeezed my hand back. She didn't say anything, but that squeeze whispered _thank you_. And that _thank you_ strengthened my resolve to keep her secret as long as she needed me to. Right now she needed someone to keep her secret so she wouldn't have to hold it alone. I would try as hard as I could do that for her.

* * *

><p>As the weeks went on, it got easier to be around her. I realized she was still the same gentle, beautiful person, even if she was hurting inside. We're all hurting a little bit inside, at least in some small way. Her pain is just different and bigger than mine, and sometimes she hurts on the outside too. It got easier to be around her, but I found myself watching her movements more carefully. Once I saw her cringe as she reached up to a high cupboard and I rushed to her side.<p>

"Let me get that," I said quietly. She sank back down on her heels and cupped her elbow with her hand, closing her eyes for just a moment. After I got the bowl down from the shelf, I got an ice pack from the freezer and silently brought it over to her at the table. I wanted to say something like _you need to take care of yourself_, but that sounded like I was judging her. So I just gave her a sad smile that I hoped would cushion her heart and her elbow at the same time. But it hurt me to know it was still happening.

I felt extra guilty when I accepted a job with the home health care agency I worked for when I was pregnant. The job was good: reasonable hours, good pay, a nice home situation with an elderly woman who had dementia and diabetes. The agency promised me it would be a nice transition back into working. But I felt guilty because not only was I leaving Caleb three days a week, I was also leaving Julie and Zoe. There wouldn't be anyone there to tell Julie to ice her bruises or hold her hand and say nothing. That guilt almost overshadowed how excited I was to go back to work.

I thought I was doing a pretty good job keeping Julie's secret from you, but after a few weeks you said something that made me doubt.

"Britt, is everything okay?" you asked, tilting your head as you cupped my cheek. "You're so quiet lately."

I gave you a forced smile. "I think I'm just anxious about starting my new job," I lied. I felt terrible lying to you, and I felt like I'd been doing it a lot lately. I promised you I'd communicate things that are hard, but Julie's secret wasn't mine to tell. It was agony, keeping you in the dark, but I couldn't betray my friend. I was worried the lies would consume me and push us apart.

"You have nothing to worry about," you said, pinching my chin between your thumb and forefinger. "You'll be great. You're the best nurse in Ohio."

I gave you a funny little scoff. "That's because you only ever get to see naughty nurse Pierce in action," I said under my breath.

"Damn right," you said. "And she's the best."

I looked at you with a sneaky smile. "How would you know?"

"I just know these things," you said, flicking a lock of hair over your shoulder.

The playful energy died down and you stepped forward, wrapping your arms tight around me. I love that feeling of just being held. But as you held me I felt so sad. I couldn't help but think of Julie being wrapped in Tim's arms and not feeling so safe and happy. She deserves to feel as good as I feel when you hold me.

"Britt, you'd tell me if something was going on, right?"

I swallowed. I knew you were worried I was getting depressed again, and that wasn't what was happening. So I didn't feel completely horrible when I had to lie. But I still didn't like it. "Yes."

You studied my face for a minute, not sure if you believed me. Ultimately you sighed and wrapped your arms tighter around me. You whispered very quietly in my ear, "I love you so much it scares me."

I squeezed you back and pressed my lips to your ear. "I love you that much too."

And that wasn't a lie.

* * *

><p>A week before Caleb's first birthday, we were sitting in the living room. I was eating a bowl of yogurt and cereal on the couch and you were going over some files in the armchair a few feet away. Caleb was entertaining himself by crawling around the room and knocking over toys and giggling. It's very funny when things fall down, apparently. Watching him laugh at his own cleverness made both of us laugh. When we laughed, he looked over at us with a toothy grin - he has five teeth now! - and after a moment he chuckled again, slapping his pudgy fists against his thighs in delight.<p>

"You show those toys who's boss, Caleb," you said, turning a page over in your lap.

Caleb cackled and knocked over a plastic truck.

A few minutes later Caleb lost interest in knocking things over and crawled toward the couch. He paused at the coffee table and pulled himself up. That wasn't anything new - he's been doing it for a few months now. But this time when he let go of the coffee table, he didn't fall down. He looked at you, your head down as you concentrated on the files in your lap. He took a step.

"S!" I whispered.

Your head bobbed up to look at me and then at Caleb. Your eyes brightened and you tried not to look too shocked as our boy lifted his other foot and set it down a few inches from where it had been. He paused for a moment, getting his balance. Then he lifted his other foot and quickly moved it forward, landing heavily as he struggled to stay upright.

You sucked in air through an enormous smile as Caleb lifted his arms to you and took another step. He was just a foot away from you now, and as soon as he had found his balance, he lifted his other foot and stumbled forward, catching himself on your knees. He placed his head on your legs and turned toward me, smiling a goofy smile as you rubbed his head and cheered, "Good job, Caleb!"

I clapped and I felt my chest tighten and my eyes water as I beamed back at our boy. I was so happy for him and I was so relieved that you had been there to see it. I don't know what I would have done if it had happened when it was just me or just me and Julie. I would have been so sad for you, and I might have even pretended it didn't happen so I could see how happy you were when you saw it and thought it was the first time. But I got to see that honestly.

You lifted him up from the ground and peppered his face in kisses as he blinked and stuck his fingers in his mouth. Then he curled into your chest as you wrapped him close to you, ear pressed to your heart as you wiped your face and looked at me with a tearful smile.

_He's so big_, you mouthed to me, sniffling.

I smiled back and nodded. After a moment you stood up and carried him over to the couch, sitting so close to me my thigh got smashed down into the cushions. Caleb still looked at me and smiled, like he had just done the most clever thing in the whole world and he had done it especially for you and me. That tug in my chest I was so used to feeling, the tug that started the moment he was born, started pulling at me relentlessly.

"My turn," I said, twisting so I could take him from your arms.

You helped transfer him to my lap and as he curled into me. There is something so powerful about our boy. When I feel his fingers bunch and grab at my shirt, I feel it in my chest, as if he could reach through my skin and hold my heart in his chubby fist. A tear down his cheek could make me fall to my knees. Caleb can read when people are upset or scared or happy and he reflects it in the most natural, genuine way. I wish more people had that skill. Our son has so much to teach me. I am in awe of him every day.

I dropped my head to breathe in the smell of his hair. He still smells like baby: warm skin, sleep, sunshine, and a hint of powder and baby shampoo. I love that smell so much. I wish I could bottle it and keep it in my purse for whenever I'm away from him and need something to calm me, the same way I wish I could bottle the smell I always find in the crook of your neck: warm skin, lotion, hairspray, makeup, and Santana.

You wrapped your arm around my back and put your head on my shoulder, looking down at our boy. We got only a short paradise moment with him before he started wriggling and pushing away, wanting to go back to his toys and his cleverness. I guided him off my lap and turned my attention to you. As I slipped my arm around your back and turned my torso towards you, your smile was calm and proud.

"Some days I still can't believe he's ours," you murmured.

I nodded as I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to yours. It seemed fitting to celebrate with a kiss. A slow, gentle kiss that stood outside time and didn't even hear the racket Caleb started making with his plastic trucks. The slower we kissed, the more my stomach fluttered with excitement that hadn't died down after all these years. When Caleb finally made a crash so loud that we had to part just to make sure he was okay, it was as if I had just awoken from a full night's sleep. I was so refreshed and calm and happy, nothing could have shaken me. Caleb had toppled forward onto his truck, and after a few little coughing cries, which you got up to soothe, he went back to banging and crashing them together.

You came back to the couch and put your head in my lap, still watching our son as he played as noisily as he could.

"I guess he's not really a baby anymore," I murmured. "He's a toddler."

You squeezed my knee. "Oh my god..." you whispered. "We have a toddler..." You shifted onto your back and looked up at me with wide eyes and a smile. "When did we get so old, B?"

I laughed and shrugged. "We're not that old," I said. "You're only coming up on _thirty_."

Your eyes went wide and your hairline shifted back, a sure sign you were shocked. "_No_," you said, "I'll be celebrating my annual twenty-ninth birthday for the next hundred years," you said, trying to look as serious as possible.

I just grinned at you and nodded. "Of course. I'll have to grow old and gray alone."

"No way," you giggled. "I want to grow old and gray with you."

Just then your phone vibrated on the coffee table and you reached for it. You looked at the screen and your face shifted into a smug smile. "Speaking of old..." you muttered. You held the phone up to your ear and chirped, "Hey, El!"

Elinor is your best friend in the whole world and has been for years. Back in high school when I was dating Artie you dated her for a while, but that was so long ago I think all of us forget. Once Nicole asked me if it was weird that you hang out with her all the time since once upon a time you used to have sex with her, but I hadn't ever thought about it like that. You may have had sex with with her, but you and I actually make love. I've never worried about Elinor. Your friendship is important, and I love that you have such a good friend who you can talk to about all the frustrating things at work I don't understand. I love that you had someone to support you when I was really depressed and when the pregnancy tests kept coming back negative. I think it's taken a lot of pressure off our relationship. I hope Julie can be my Elinor. Or I can be Julie's Elinor. Or something like that.

"Guess what Caleb just did?" you said into the phone, bursting to tell her.

I couldn't hear what she said, but your grin grew wider as you said, "Yep! I was just sitting here doing some work and he walked _right_ to me. It was so adorable. Britt and I were just saying that he's officially a toddler."

I heard a few cooing noises crackle through the phone, but I couldn't make out what Elinor was saying to you. Only a moment later your eyes bugged out and you shot up out of my lap, your jaw dropping and smiling at the same time. You started shrieking and stamping your feet against the carpet and Caleb looked over at you, wondering what had gotten you so excited. "Finally!" you cried. "Congratulations, El!"

You looked at me with an elated expression, holding up your left hand and wiggling your ring finger to let me know Elinor had just told you she and her girlfriend, Danielle, were engaged. I clapped and bounced a few times in my seat, then put my hands to my mouth because I was so excited for them, but I wanted to keep myself quiet so I could hear as much as possible.

"When?" you demanded into the receiver. "Tell me everything!"

As you listened your body jerked a bit, and you looked at me and smiled like a fool. You put your hand to your cheek a few times and you kept cooing and _aww_ing.

After a minute, you regained the power of coherent speech. "Absolutely. And I _better_ be your maid of honor."

I heard Elinor giggling and your smile told me that she had said something along the lines of _of course_.

"Aw, El, you're gonna look so pretty in white..." you cooed. You hummed a few more _uh huh_s and listened as Elinor talked for a minute longer.

"Well hey, bring your fiancée over for dinner tomorrow!" you suggested. "Britt wants to hear the story too." There was a pause and then you said, "Yeah, of course Eliza and Andrew are invited. They're part of the package!"

Eliza and Andrew are Danielle's kids from her first marriage. Eliza is seven and Andrew is ten. Danielle was widowed when Eliza was six months old. I can't even imagine how hard that was for her. I have a lot of respect for Danielle.

After finalizing plans with Elinor and her family, you set your phone back on the coffee table and looked at me. "What a great day..." you murmured. Taking my face in your hands you kissed me again, an excited, hard kiss. "If we weren't already married, I'd propose to you right now," you declared.

And I felt exactly the same way.

* * *

><p>Somehow Caleb turning one and taking his first steps made me feel a little bit better about starting my new job. He was branching out into the world and that felt like permission for me to do the same. Of course I cried the first week when I had to leave him in the morning. I know it's silly, because it's not like I've never left him before. I go to yoga with Julie on the weekend and he stays with my parents sometimes. A few times Elinor has watched him and of course Hayley is his favorite babysitter ever, and he sees her about once a week so we can have time together that isn't just mommy time. He's even had an overnight at my parents'. But somehow leaving him with my sister so I could go to <em>work<em> was very different than leaving him to go to yoga or on a date with you.

On my first morning of work, I put on my scrubs and sorted through my purse, taking out the empty bottle and a dirty baby spoon I probably wouldn't be needing with my elderly client. Caleb was playing with his toys happily. But when he saw me start to cry as I leaned down to kiss him goodbye, he puffed out his lower lip and looked back and forth between me and Hayley, distressed by my tears. He's so beautifully sensitive, but for once I wished he could be oblivious and keep playing with his toys while I said goodbye. I kissed him on both his cheeks and his forehead and his nose before I decided I had to leave right away or I'd change my mind entirely about going back to work.

I tried to block out the sound of Caleb crying as I walked out the door and shut it behind me. I closed my eyes for a moment as I walked to my car, where I sat for a moment, keys in my lap, steadying myself.

"You're ready for this, Brittany," I whispered to myself. "And Caleb needs you to be ready too."

If I said it out loud, maybe it would be easier to believe. The saving grace was that I was leaving him with Hayley, who loves him almost as much as we do. She's reliable and driven like you, she's gentle like me, and most important of all, we both trust her. If one of us can't be with Caleb, Hayley is the next best thing. So I started the car and backed out of the driveway.

The job was a good one. Arlene Johnson is an elderly widow with dementia and diabetes whose daughter had called the agency I work for when Arlene didn't recognize her anymore. I didn't realize that on the first day of work, the way Arlene interacted with me would be pretty much the same as every day after.

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson," I'd always say, "I'm Brittany. How are you feeling today?"

And her answer would usually be the same. One time she started laughing when I introduced myself. "Of course I know you!" she giggled, "You're a Delta Zeta! Have you heard from any of the other sisters lately?"

I knew better than to correct her. That would upset her and maybe even scare her. So instead of telling her I wasn't a Delta Zeta, I just smiled. "No, I haven't heard from any of them lately."

Arlene just furrowed her brow and nodded. "Me neither," she said. "We should plan a reunion."

"That would be fun," I said.

The fact that she didn't remember me ninety percent of the time was refreshing. Usually. I got a fresh start every day. After she yelled at me for hurting her when I checked her insulin level one day, it was nice to know she wouldn't be angry half an hour later, and certainly not the next day. My last client would be stony and bitter for days if I did something he didn't like.

But her memory also had its dangers. She wasn't allowed to cook because she was known to put the water on to boil and then take a nap, leaving the stove on until all the water had evaporated and the pot got warped. One time she went out to get the mail and when she wasn't back a few minutes later, I had to walk around the block to find her, and when I did, she was disoriented and frightened and didn't recognize me. Sometimes she got so upset with herself for forgetting something she would hit herself and mutter, "stupid, stupid, stupid..." It broke my heart to see, and after the first few times it happened, I figured out that I needed to distract her with some tea and an episode of Jeopardy. We watched the same episode of Jeopardy every day, sometimes multiple times, and she watched with the enthusiasm of seeing it for the first time. She would yell out guesses, many of them the same as the day before.

"Did you see that, Brittany?" she'd ask, pointing toward the television. "I was right!"

When I told you about watching the same episode of Jeopardy every day and how most days Arlene didn't remember me or thought I was her sorority sister, your eyes went wide. "Don't you feel _bad_ doing that to her?"

Of course the decay of Arlene's memory is sad, but I don't feel bad watching Jeopardy over and over or going along with her theories about who I am. Besides checking her insulin level and keeping her safe, it's my job to make her comfortable and calm her down. If I upset her by changing her routine or telling her I'm actually sort of a stranger, I wouldn't be doing my job very well.

I explained that to you and you bit your lip, frowning as you thought. "But you're _lying_ to her."

I gave you a shrug that acknowledged it was partly true. It was a lie, but it was to protect her.

You thought for a moment, looking around the room. "I guess some lies are important."

I hoped you couldn't tell that a chill went through me when you said that. It was the same chill that ran through me at night when I lay awake worrying about Julie and Zoe and agonizing over if it was okay to keep secrets like that from you. I bit my lip and prayed that if you ever found out about Julie, you'd forgive me for not telling you.

* * *

><p>Julie's secret gnawed away at me over the next few months. I felt a bit frozen as Caleb went from stumbling and falling to running around the backyard. In a way Julie felt frozen to me too. Her warmth grew dimmer, and she seemed sadder and sadder. We didn't talk about it unless she was hurt, and even then, we only talked about it so I could help treat her injuries and make sure Zoe wasn't being hurt too. One day I advised Julie to take anti-inflammatories when her back was hurting, and as I watched her take the bottle out of the cabinet, I wondered if she ever had the urge to take more than a few. But that whole bottle wouldn't take away the pain from having the person she loved beat her. That kind of pain doesn't go away with pills.<p>

There were some times I felt unfrozen. One of my favorite things to do to unfreeze was to play "Mirror Baby, Mirror Mommy" with Caleb. It was one of his favorite games, too. We would stand in the bathroom and he would reach for the mirror from his place in my arms, getting smudges on it as his mouth fell open, watching the toddler he couldn't quite touch. Sometimes I'd kiss him and he'd laugh, looking back and forth between me and "Mirror Mommy," unsure who to kiss back. The game always ended with him bashfully rubbing his face into me as he grinned at his handsome reflection. In those moments my heart would soar and I could forget that there were terrible things in the world.

The summertime was wonderful. One Saturday while you were doing wedding stuff with Elinor, I actually made it out into the backyard to plant the garden that didn't get planted last summer. Caleb toddled around, digging holes and throwing dirt and getting absolutely filthy as he helped me. When all the weeds had been cleared and the soil turned, I had Caleb help me plant the seeds. As we planted, I was struck by how big he is. He could actually understand the task: pick up a seed, put it in the hole, push the dirt on top of the seed. I hadn't seen him perform a sequence of tasks like that before. We had so much fun planting, when we were finished I decided to give him a little spritz with the hose after we watered the dirt. He likes water, so I figured he would laugh. But I must have caught him by surprise because he burst into tears and wailed, stumbling away from me towards the porch. I turned off the hose and darted over to him and scooped him up. "I'm sorry, Bug," I said, kissing his wet cheek. "Mommy didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry..." I dried his face and arms with my shirt and cradled his head to my chest. "Sorry, Sweetie..."

That kind of a put a damper on the afternoon, so I put the shovel and seeds away and took Caleb inside. I gave him a bath and then we put on jammies, even though it was still afternoon time. I made a pasta salad for dinner - it was so nice to be able to make the same thing for all three of us - and we played a few games of "stack the blocks up and knock them over" before you got home. You brought home a carton of blueberries and some vanilla ice cream and kissed me longer than usual. At dinner Caleb mashed pasta into his face and hair, followed by blueberries, and we even gave him his first taste of ice cream afterwards. At first he was startled. Aside from snow, he hadn't tasted anything so cold. But when he realized it was sweet, he grinned and started laughing, reaching for more as a bit of ice cream dribbled out of his mouth. You let him have a few more baby-sized bites before washing his face and hands, brushing his teeth - all ten of them! - and giving him his nighttime bottle.

There's something about the warmth of summer evenings that makes everyone feel younger. As we climbed into bed, you peppered the back of my neck with kisses and it made me giggle. You wrapped your arm around my waist and pressed me into the nook of your hips. You weren't asking for sex, you just wanted to be close. So I rolled over and on top of you and kissed your toothpaste-flavored mouth for a while before sighing into your neck, smiling. We could hear crickets through the open window and I was certain that the warm summer air could lull even the most anxious person to sleep.

* * *

><p>In the middle of the night I thought I heard something ringing, like a strange cell phone tone or a cartoon soundtrack. I thought maybe some teenagers down the street were being noisy, so I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Then I heard it again and realized it sounded like a child crying. But Caleb's monitor was right by my bedside and I could hear him softly breathing. When the child's cries grew clearer and I heard the doorbell ring, I felt ice jolt through me. Something was wrong. As soon as I could move, I got up and slipped down the stairs. As I reached for the door and turned on the hallway light, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I recognized the child's cry. I was terrified of what I'd find on the other side of the door.<p>

I opened the door to find Julie holding Zoe on the doorstep. Julie looked pale as a sheet, but more jarring than that was the shiny, deep purple glow around her eye that made her whole face look warped. Held against her hip wearing pink footie pajamas was Zoe, who is almost two now and clung to Julie like a scared baby monkey. Julie's purse was slung over her other shoulder. She was wearing jeans under a nightgown and robe. Her hair was completely disheveled and she looked so frightened, like the sound of a twig snapping behind her would make her leap inside our house. Even in the dim light I could see she was shaking.

"I need help," Julie choked. Her breathing was gasping and shallow. Her fear made the ice inside me surge and my heart race.

Stepping back to usher them in, all I could do was nod. More than anything I wanted to hold both of them, to keep them safe so I wouldn't have to worry about them anymore. I should have felt relieved they were here, but instead I was more terrified than I had ever been. Something awful must have happened to make Julie come to me.

As soon as I closed the door, I saw the light in the stairwell behind us go on. You were walking down the stairs, brushing your hair out of your eyes and tightening the belt on your robe.

"Britt, what the hell is going-"

You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw Julie and Zoe. I know you saw the bruise. It was impossible to miss.

The big thing I'd been hiding for months was about to come spilling out and I had no idea how you'd react. I swallowed and tried to hold my head high, being brave for Julie, if not for myself. "Julie needs our help."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It's been quiet out there in cyberland... let me know your thoughts!**


	8. Sticks and Stones

**Chapter 8: Sticks and Stones**

**A/N: Thanks to my fearless betas, terriblemuriel and FrogsRcool. **

**I think it goes without saying that this chapter has a DV trigger warning.**

* * *

><p>When Julie saw you, she paled. Of course she knew you would be here. But seeing you in your pajamas, stock still on the stairs as you took in her bruise and her crying child and her disheveled appearance, she suddenly seemed to change her mind. She looked back and forth between me and you like Caleb does when he doesn't know if he should cry after he falls down.<p>

Luckily you unfroze and floated the rest of the way down the stairs. "Hi, Julie," you said. It was the soft, sweet voice you use when Caleb is tired. You came to stand just a few feet away. Taking in the glaring bruise on her face, you bobbed your head and said, "I'll get you some peas."

I thought that was a very strange thing to say, but then I realized you meant a bag of frozen peas to put on her face to help the swelling go down. That was the best thing you could have said, because it wasn't a question or a judgment, just a gesture of caring and helping. You're so smart.

You walked into the kitchen and Julie looked at me with wide, scared eyes as Zoe cried in her arms.

"It's okay," I murmured. I think I was saying it more to myself than Julie, because I desperately wanted everything to be okay. "Come sit down."

Julie looked so unsteady and unsure. I took her purse off her shoulder and set it by the door. Without touching her, I ushered her into the living room, gesturing towards the couch and getting a blanket to wrap around Zoe. Sometimes when Caleb is scared or upset, wrapping him in a fluffy blanket helps calm him down. Maybe it feels like the world is being blocked out a little bit more.

As Julie took the blanket from me and sat down, my stomach twisted with a horrifying thought. "Is she hurt?"

Julie looked up at me with sincere, serious eyes and shook her head. "She's just confused."

I nodded. I sat in the chair next to the couch and reached out to rubb Zoe's arm, trying to help her cries die down to whimpers. I made my voice as light and playful as I could for her. "It's okay, Zoe-bear. I would be confused too if my mom woke me up and took me to my friend's house in the middle of the night."

Julie wrapped Zoe close to her chest with the blanket and rubbed her back. "Sshh.." she hushed. "It's okay, Zoe... it's okay. Mommy just wants to talk to Aunt Brittany."

Julie had never called me Aunt Brittany before, even though I sometimes call her Aunt Julie when Caleb is around. I think she said it because she wanted me to know she was counting on me. It felt good that she trusted me. Zoe quieted and rubbed her sleepy face into Julie's shoulder. I pouted at Julie, sympathetic to how exhausted Zoe must be.

You walked back into the living room with your hands full. You had a bag of frozen peas, but also a bottle of pills and a glass of water.

"Here you go," you murmured, setting the water and pills on the coffee table and gently bending down to hold the frozen peas up to the side of Julie's face. You didn't touch her skin, just held it up and waited for her to take the peas from your hand.

"Gentle," you instructed. "Don't put any pressure on it. Just keep it cold."

Julie looked up at you and nodded.

"Anywhere else?" you asked.

Julie shook her head.

"Have you taken anything for it?" you asked.

Julie shook her head again. She was quieter now that you were here.

"Okay. Here's Tylenol. Don't take aspirin, it'll make the internal bleeding worse."

Julie nodded and placed the peas on her face with a little wince as you uncapped the bottle and shook out two pills. You held them in a flat, unthreatening palm out to her. She looked at your hand, then your face before setting the peas in her lap and taking the pills, putting them in her mouth and reaching for the water, which she drank in one long gulp.

"Thanks," she whispered, putting the glass down and picking up the peas again. Zoe had settled against her shoulder and yawned. Julie rubbed her back and turned to kiss her cheek. I could see a tear stain on Zoe's cheek in the dim light of the lamp in the corner.

And then silence set in. Awful, sickening, too-many-questions-hanging-in-the-air silence. It was so quiet I could hear Zoe's breathing and the peas rustling in the bag against Julie's face whenever she moved. It lasted forever.

Finally you spoke. "Is this the first time?"

Julie shook her head and the peas rustled as she looked at her lap. I waited for one of you to say something, but neither of you did. I felt sicker and sicker.

Then Julie let out a breath and stood up, placing the peas on the coffee table. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry. I need to go home before he realizes I'm gone."

As Julie got up to go back to the door, you stood. "Julie, wait," you said. It was the same voice you use with me when I'm upset. I've only ever heard you use it with me and Caleb and one time with Elinor. Soft and warm and gentle, but so strong it feels commanding. "As your lawyer, I want to talk to you about your options before you make a decision."

Sometimes when you show someone else just how big your heart is, it makes my chest ache in the most beautiful way because finally someone else gets to see the reason I love you so much.

Julie stopped in her tracks with her back to us. "You don't have to do that," she whispered. But I could tell what you were doing was working. She was conflicted enough that you could influence her. "I don't want you to do that, Santana."

"And I don't want you to go home if it means you'll get hurt again." There was more edge in your voice, more of a challenge. "And if he hurt Zoe-" you swallowed, trying to push the thought away because it was too awful to stomach, "Or if there's even a possibility he might, I can't let you go home. I'm a mandated reporter. So is Brittany."

Julie looked at me and I felt my heart pound harder. I hadn't even _thought_ about the fact that I'm a mandated reporter. I had been so preoccupied with keeping Julie's trust, I'd forgotten I have other obligations. Now I was worried that I had done something wrong. Either I had put my nursing license at risk, broken Julie's trust, or put someone in danger. Somehow the thing I was most worried about was Julie feeling betrayed. My whole body surged with fear and I felt stuck to my chair.

Zoe's giant blue eyes looked at us as I tried to will Julie back to her spot on the couch. I didn't want her to go home and I wanted to know if she was upset with me.

"He didn't hurt her," Julie said. She turned to face us. I could see she was scared as her eyes darted between you and me. "He didn't hurt her," she said a little louder and with more foundation under her voice. "If he did, I-" She cut herself off and looked at the place she had just been sitting on the couch. "I would never let him hurt her."

"He could though," you said. Your voice was low and serious. "If you go back, he could very well hurt her."

My stomach churned as I looked at Zoe in her little pink footie pajamas. The thought of anyone hurting her made me feel nauseated.

Julie shook and closed her eyes, holding Zoe's head against her shoulder. She took a breath. "I just don't know what to do," she whispered.

You nodded and held your arm out to her, as if you wanted to hug her from across the room. "Let's figure it out," you said. You were gentle again.

Shaking a little bit, Julie put one foot in front of the other, walking back to the couch and sitting down almost in slow motion. Also in slow motion, you sat down next to her, taking the peas off the table and holding them out for her to take. She kept her gaze in her lap as she took the peas and held them up to her face between the two of you.

You rubbed her knee just a bit, back and forth a few inches.

Julie's voice was wobbly and some words got stuck in her throat as she spoke. "I don't have anywhere to go."

My heart broke for her. I had never met someone so alone in my life. I have dozens of places I could go for help if I needed it. I just can't imagine needing it as much as she does.

"You can always come to us," you said quietly. "We've got plenty of room and Caleb is always happy to see Zoe."

Julie shook her head just a bit, rustling the peas. "This is the first place he'd look. He knows Brittany is my only friend."

That made my heart beat cold and fast and I felt frozen to my chair. I wanted to be a good friend and keep her safe, but I didn't want Tim to come anywhere near our house. I was glad I'd never met him. That way I could imagine him to be a terrible person, even though Julie promised he wasn't. And even though I know no one is all good or all bad, I needed Tim to be all bad because that was the only way I could understand what was happening to my friend.

You let a moment of quiet settle in the room. "Are you ready to leave him?" you asked. It was the most gentle question, but the way you said it made it obvious it was very important.

"I don't know," Julie whispered. Another quiet moment passed as Julie took a deep breath. "I just want it to stop. It's been two years... But I really love him. So, so much..." Her voice started to catch.

You used to get so flustered when people cried, but now you're okay with it. In fact I think you're better at knowing what to say to people than I am. I was frozen to my chair and had hardly said anything to Julie. You were sitting next to her actually helping her. In five minutes you'd done more than I'd done in five months. I was starting to feel like a bad friend.

"I know you love him," you murmured, leaning forward and dipping your head down to try to see around the bag of peas between you and Julie. "And if you're not ready, you're not ready. But the only way to guarantee it will stop is to leave."

Julie closed her eyes, as if it hurt to hear what she already knew. "I don't know if I'm ready to leave," she said. "But I'm ready for it to stop."

You nodded.

Julie let out a shuddering breath. "He controls everything. The house, the cars, the money..."

You looked at me for the first time since you had sat down, just briefly, then turned your attention back to Julie. You were telling me that we were going to help her with the practical side of things.

"If you had a place to go and a car to drive and money, would you leave?" you asked.

Julie gave a small shrug. "I don't have those things."

I knew what you were asking her. You were trying to get her to think with her heart and not her head. I opened my mouth to speak but found my throat was stuck closed.

You said what I had tried to say. "But if details weren't a problem, would you want to leave him?"

Julie looked at Zoe who was dozing on her shoulder. "I don't want to leave my husband or the father of my baby," she said, growing tearful. "But I want to leave the man who..." She tilted the peas away from her face to show her bruise, not wanting to say _hurts me_ out loud.

"It's really hard," you murmured, nodding with understanding.

Julie sniffled. "And I never, ever want Zoe to see it happen."

You let Julie cry for a moment before gently offering, "Well... if you're ready, we'll find you a hotel or a safehouse. And don't worry about money."

Julie shook her head. "He'll find me. He'll track the credit card or use the police database or..." she trailed off, getting more flustered and anxious as she thought through the details.

"Okay, okay..." you hushed, holding your hands up as if you wanted to touch her to comfort her, but weren't sure it was okay. "No hotel or safehouse. There are plenty of other places you could go."

"Where?" Julie asked, sounding doubtful and desperate.

More than anything, I wanted Julie to have a real home, a place she could go to when she felt lost and broken beyond repair. I wanted her to have the same love and encouragement I'd been surrounded by whole life. It takes more than one person supporting you, otherwise if one of you stumbles, you both fall.

I unstuck my throat. "My parents," I said. "They live two hours away. Tim would never look there."

You looked at me and bobbed your head in approval before turning back to Julie. "I can help you file a T.P.O. before we go. It's easy."

Julie looked back and forth between you and me, her eyes scared at the thought of actually going through with leaving her husband. It was heartbreaking to look at that fear and realize that no matter what she did, she'd feel unsafe. If she went to my parents' house, she'd worry about Tim finding her. And if she stayed, she'd worry about being hurt every day. There was no easy answer.

"But then your parents would be in danger," Julie protested. "I can't do that to them..."

"The T.P.O. would cover them and their house," you said.

I nodded. "They'll help you. They're good people." I was certain my parents would take Julie and Zoe in in a heartbeat. They'd help her way more than I had.

"And Lima is out of Tim's jurisdiction," you added.

Julie was still looking back and forth between us like a scared puppy. "What's a T.P.O.?" she asked.

"A temporary protective order," you said. "You can file one online. It means he can't be near you or your work or wherever you're staying. It gives us time to apply for a more permanent restraining order and make sure you get full custody of Zoe."

Terrified, Julie tightened her hold on Zoe, as if she could be taken from her at any moment. "Do I have to go to court?" she asked, trying not to shake.

"That's up to the D.A.," you said apologetically.

I wished your answer had been different, because now Julie looked even more scared. It was one more thing she couldn't control. She closed her eyes. "I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.

You gently put your hand on Julie's back and she flinched a bit. "You don't have to do it alone," you murmured. "We'll help you. And Vickie and Gordon will help you. There are lots of people who will help. All you have to do is say yes."

Julie looked at me, her eyes imploring, as if she were hoping I would make the decision for her.

I wanted Julie to say yes. Obviously I did. Though it was hard to imagine, I tried to put myself in her place. If I were being hurt by someone I loved, I wondered what would motivate me to leave when I was so conflicted. As I tried to figure it out, Zoe shifted in Julie's arms and settled with her head facing me. And then I knew.

"If you can't do it for yourself," I said softly, "do it for Zoe. She doesn't want you to hurt."

Julie sniffled and started to cry. She nodded and wiped her cheek. "Okay," she mumbled. "I can do that."

You gently drew Julie's elbow down, bringing the peas away from her face. You cupped her cheek and brushed the tears from underneath the bruise. She tried not to flinch.

"No more bruises, okay?" you murmured. "No more hurting."

Keeping her gaze on the ground, Julie blinked a few times and gave a tiny nod. "Okay."

You shifted in your seat, signaling you were going into action mode now. "Have you ever taken pictures?" you asked, your words as soft as you could make them. Julie shook her head. "Okay. We need to do that."

Julie cringed and nodded.

You put your palm face_-_up on her knee, offering her your hand. She looked at it for a moment and then took it. You squeezed her hand and gave her a nod.

I wondered how in the world you knew exactly what to do and say to her. The legal part made sense, but your words and the way you were so gentle with her and her injuries while firmly steering her towards safety seemed wise beyond explanation.

After a moment you looked over at me. "Britt, would you go pack a bag of clothes and stuff for them? And get the carseat out of my car for Zoe."

I liked that you gave me instructions, because I was still frozen to my chair. You always know exactly what to do. Sometimes I get stuck on feelings and I don't think to do things I should. I hope I never have to face a crisis without you.

I pried myself out of my chair and went upstairs. The first thing I wanted to do was wake Caleb and whisper to him that everyone was safe and I would never, ever put him in danger. But I knew I should get everything else ready before waking him up.

You helped Julie file a T.P.O. on your laptop and took pictures of her injuries while I packed some food and toys for our trip. I packed a bag of your clothes for Julie - mine are too big - and some travel-sized shampoos and lotions and a prayer book my mom gave me. I found a few of Caleb's sweaters and a pair of overalls that were big enough for Zoe and put them in a spare diaper bag. Luckily Zoe was mostly potty-trained, but I still threw in a few diapers and wipes. As I looked around my house, I realized just how much _stuff_ we have for Caleb. I couldn't imagine picking him up and running in the middle of the night without so much as a change of clothes. Julie is the bravest person I know. I wanted to give her everything we have so she could have something familiar with her in Lima.

As I packed, I started to thaw and I felt my stomach uncoil. We were helping her and that felt good, even if the situation was scary. After we'd finished packing the car, I woke Caleb. He was grumpy and his hair was sticking up in twenty different directions, but he didn't make much fuss as I put him in a sweater and carried him downstairs. When he saw Zoe as I took him out to the car, he grinned and waved. I snapped him in and climbed in the passenger's seat. After looking up and down the dark street, you quietly ushered Julie and Zoe outside, helped them into the car, and shut the door, sealing them safely inside.

I watched your face as we backed out of the driveway and started the trip to Lima. I had absolutely no idea what you were thinking or feeling. Seconds after seeing Julie, you had switched into Take-Charge Santana, and Take-Charge Santana never shows her feelings. I was kind of anxious to know what you were feeling, because there was no way you were as cool and collected as you seemed. The situation was too jarring and unexpected. The fact that it was dark and eerily quiet in our neighborhood didn't help. Everything felt off tonight. It didn't seem like the same neighborhood I drove through every day. And you didn't seem like the same person I come home to every day. You were totally zipped up and unreadable.

We drove a few blocks before you looked at Julie in the rearview mirror. "Julie, is your cell phone on Tim's account?" you asked.

"Yeah"

You rolled Julie's window down. "Toss it out," you said.

Julie looked confused. "Why?"

"All phones have a built-in tracking device. Tim could activate it and track you within a hundred yards of your location."

Julie rummaged in her purse and pulled out her phone. She held it in her hand for a moment and I couldn't help but think of what she was about to do. She was about to cut off direct contact to the few people in her life she trusted, at least for the near future. Faced with the same situation, I didn't know if I could let go.

But luckily Julie isn't me, because after just a moment, she threw the phone out the window. It wasn't just a toss or a casual arc through the air. She hurled it and I heard it skid and shatter on the pavement in the dark. The way she threw it gave me so much hope. She was determined and stronger than she realized. I wanted to hug her and clap for her.

You flashed her a little smile as you rolled up the window. "We'll get you a pay-as-you-go phone in Lima with a new number."

Julie bit her lips and nodded.

I looked back at you, but I still couldn't read your face. You kept your eyes on the road, occasionally glancing back at Julie and the babies in the rearview mirror. Maybe you weren't having a big reaction to this. Maybe I don't give you enough credit for just how much you can handle.

After we'd been driving for about half an hour in eerie, dark silence, Julie started whimpering, though she tried to stifle the noise with her hand. I turned from my spot in the passenger's seat and offered her my hand.

Julie took it and sniffled. "I'm going to miss Yoshi so much... I wish I had brought him with me!"

Whatever settling my chest had done since getting in the car was undone. I had totally forgotten about Julie's dog.

"We'll try to get him for you," you said, keeping your eyes on the road. You were trying to comfort her, but your words didn't sound like a promise. You weren't sure you'd be able to rescue her dog for her.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye to him..." Julie blubbered.

I squeezed Julie's hand and made hushing noises. "We'll try to get him," I murmured.

Julie cried for a moment longer before Zoe stirred in her sleep. She opened her eyes and reached over and touched Julie's face with her palm. "No sad," Zoe said. "No sad."

Julie gave her a watery smile. "No sad," she whispered. "We're just going on a little trip."

Zoe looked around the car. "Where's daddy?" she asked.

Julie tried not to shudder and my stomach clenched. It felt like the temperature in the car dropped twenty degrees. I was so glad I wasn't the one who had to answer that question.

"Daddy's not coming with us," Julie said, trying not to cry.

"Why?" Zoe asked. She was in her "why" phase, but this _why_ felt so much heavier than any other _why_.

Julie took a deep breath. Rather than answer the question, she just said, "I love you, Zoe-bear." She leaned over and gave Zoe a kiss on the cheek. "Try to go back to sleep, honey."

"Why?" Zoe asked. And that _why_ made me feel like I could breathe again.

"Because it's the middle of the night and Mr. Moon is out," Julie said. Her voice was a little more even and warm. "Mr. Golden Sun will come out when it's time to wake up."

"Sing, mommy," Zoe demanded.

Julie looked at me and I gave her a smile letting her know it was okay. Caleb was fast asleep again and surely he wouldn't mind hearing a little song if he woke up.

Julie took a deep breath and started singing._ Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep, my __little baby... When you wake, we'll have cake, and all the pretty little horses..._

Her voice was small and wavering, but I could hear all her love for her daughter floating up through the notes. I wished there was some way for grownups to do that for each other. I would have felt silly singing to Julie, but as I watched her sing to her sleepy daughter, I wished I could. I love her and she deserves to be sung to.

You called my mom when we were half an hour away, explaining the situation. You had asked if I wanted to call, but I didn't know how I'd answer all my mom's questions. She always has a lot of questions and sometimes they feel critical. But the way you presented the information - just facts and a simple request for us to seek sanctuary at her house - seemed to hold her questions at bay. I need you to teach me how you do that some day.

As we pulled up to my parents' house, the front door opened and my mom came fluttering down the porch steps in her robe, holding her arms out to us. You gave her a hug before her attention turned to Julie, who was holding Zoe close to her and standing back a few paces with her chin tucked down.

"You poor thing..." my mom said. "We're happy to have you," she said, walking toward Julie and Zoe and wrapping them in hug.

Julie looked startled. I think it was probably too soon for my mom to hug her, but my mom doesn't understand that some people aren't huggers. If you come to her house, you get smothering hugs. That's how it is and she won't change. One time when I was a teenager I asked her to not hug every single person I brought over to the house. I always got embarrassed when she hugged my friends, and when I had a boyfriend it was the worst. She used to wear these really low-cut shirts and it was just awkward for everyone, except her because she didn't realize. When I asked her to stop she got defensive, asking me just what was so wrong with hugs and insisting that it was her house and she could do whatever she pleased. I just shrugged and slunk back to my room. She doesn't listen very well. I guess I'm used to it now.

My mom shivered and pulled her robe closed tighter. "Come on in, it's freezing out here."

When we were all inside, you said you'd be right back with Caleb's other carseat for Zoe.

"Oh, don't be silly, Santana, Zoe can use the one we got for Caleb," my mom said, flapping her hand at you. "Our house is just chock-full of baby stuff. This is the perfect place for Zoe!" she said, smile spreading across her face. "And what a precious little girl she is." She lifted her arms up, gesturing that she wanted to hold Zoe. But Zoe turned away and looked over at me.

"Sorry, she's sleepy..." Julie apologized. "But I'm sure after breakfast she'll want to play."

"That's just fine," my mom said. "I've set up the Port-o-Crib in Brittany's old room. You can stay in there. If you need anything, just give us a holler, ya hear?"

Julie nodded and looked over at you before looking back at my mom. "Thank you so much..." she mumbled.

"All children of God are welcome in this house," my mom said, her voice growing softer.

Julie exhaled. I don't know if it was my mom quieting down or talking about God that did it, but I was glad she felt a little better.

You rubbed Julie's shoulder. "Vickie and Gordon will take good care of you. I'll call you later this afternoon and we'll talk about legal stuff, okay?"

Julie nodded. "Thank you so much," she said. She turned to my mom. "Thank you. And you." She turned to me and her voice grew even softer. "Thank you."

"It's no problem, darlin' girl," my mom said, as if all the thank-yous had been for her. "You go rest up and we'll have pancakes and get acquainted in the morning_._"

Julie nodded again before turning back to me and mouthing another _thank you. _I hadn't really done anything, but I gave her a gentle hug before you shepherded me out the door, reminding me Caleb was still asleep out there.

When we got back in the car, you put both hands on the wheel and closed your eyes. That was a bad sign. You were steadying yourself, which meant that even though you had appeared steady when Julie was in the car, you weren't. Dawn was nearing and the light around us was pale and spooky as it revealed our surroundings.

"Did you know?" you said. Your voice was low and threatening.

I looked in the backseat at Caleb, hoping he would buy me time. I needed time to make sure I didn't say something that would make you angry. But Caleb was fast asleep and you were waiting for an answer. "I..." I looked around, trying to figure out what to say.

"Did you _know_?" you pressed.

I looked at my lap and nodded.

"How long?" Your voice was cold and flat.

"A while..."

"How _long_."

I swallowed. "Since March."

"_March_?" you said, your eyes bulging out. You looked in the back seat to make sure Caleb was sleeping. "Brittany, why the _hell_ didn't you tell me?" you hissed. You were mad. That was a very bad sign. "We could have helped her sooner! For two years that poor woman got beat by her husband and you knew and didn't _do_ anything?"

When you said it like that I felt like the worst friend in the world. You were starting to spin into full-blown Angry Santana and desperately wanted to stop it. I swallowed. "She told me not to tell," I mumbled. "I don't tell my friends' secrets."

"This isn't kindergarten, Britt!" you gasped. "It's okay to tell some secrets! What if she had died? How would you have felt keeping her secret then? The real world has consequences, Brittany!"

You were making me feel small and naive, like I didn't understand Julie was in danger. I did understand that. But I knew Julie better than you did. "I know that," I stammered, avoiding your eyes. "But she wasn't ready to tell. You can't make someone ready when they're not." You of all people should know that. I waited for you until you were ready to come out.

"She didn't even know her _options_, Brittany! How on earth could she be ready without knowing what they were?" You were talking with your hands, which meant you wouldn't be calming down any time soon. "And she could have been taking pictures and building a stronger case that whole time! Do you have any idea how hard this case is going to be for her if the D.A. decides to press charges? He's a fucking _cop_."

You never swear in front of Caleb, even if he's asleep, unless you are absolutely furious. I was startled and wanted to hide.

"I'm sorry..." I mumbled, sinking into the seat. I thought I had done the right thing by doing what Julie asked, but now I was second guessing myself. Maybe you were right and I should have helped her more. But I still didn't know if I should have told you.

"Even if she wasn't ready to report him, you should have told me!" you continued, your ranting growing louder. I was sure you would wake Caleb. "I'm your wife, for fuck's sake, and I had no idea why you've been acting so _weird_ lately. You and I don't keep secrets like that, Brittany. We _don't_."

Just because you're my wife doesn't mean I have to tell you everything, especially things that aren't mine to tell. But maybe this was something I should have told you because you seemed to know what you were doing. But I didn't know that before.

You continued, "I need to be able to trust you! How do I know you're not going to keep things about Caleb from me when he grows up, huh? What if you catch him doing heroin on the roof or something? Am I going to hear about it?"

I had no idea what to say. I get so uncomfortable and scared when you're angry because it doesn't happen very often. Wanting to escape, I said the stupidest thing, trying to make you laugh. "You'd see the ladder going up the roof."

"Brittany!" you barked, exasperated. You huffed and turned back to the steering wheel and switched on the ignition. "I can't talk to you right now." You held up your palm to me, and I bit my lips and turned to look out the window.

You backed out of the driveway, heading towards the highway. It was painfully quiet and I was so tired from getting only a few hours of sleep, not to mention the endless surging of adrenaline my body had endured over the last few hours. Now my whole body was ringing with guilt and fear too. The sun was starting to rise and the silence was pressing into my ears. My legs were feeling all fidgety because you were so mad and I wanted to be farther away from you, but we were in the car, so I couldn't. I reached over and turned on the radio, thinking maybe some Mozart or something would calm you down and bring your loving, gentle self back to me. But as soon as my finger hit the button, you reached over and shut it off. So I just sat with my hands tucked under my thighs, wishing I could dissolve into the seat entirely.

I was so relieved when Caleb woke up ten minutes after we got on the interstate. He did a few of his little coughing cries as he rubbed his eyes, followed by his latest whimpering of "mamamamamaaaa." He means Mama, meaning he wants you, but he never cuts it off after just two '_ma_'s.

In a very quiet voice with my chin tucked down, I said, "If you pull over I can get in the back seat and give him his breakfast."

You swerved over to the side of the road. It was scary. You never drive like that with Caleb in the car. "Yeah, why don't you do that," you said. It sounded like a warning.

As soon as the car had stopped, I unbuckled, opened the door and gratefully slipped down from my seat. I climbed in the back and sat next to Caleb. Taking his still-pudgy hand in mine, I said in a quiet, singing voice, "Morning, Caleb. We're still on our little trip. But I have breakfast for you. Breakfast on-the-go just like Mommy does when she's late to work..." Talking to him like things were normal helped me feel a little bit less anxious, but not much.

As I mixed the formula powder into the bottle of water, Caleb watched me and his cries settled down. He reached for it when it was done and I dug around in his diaper bag for some cheerios and the banana I'd packed for him.

As Caleb ate, he grinned at me and kept pointing at things out the window. The countryside around us was illuminated in pale morning light. As he pointed, I quietly named things. "That's a barn," I'd say, smiling at him. He'd jab his finger towards the barn again and I'd say, "and around the barn are cows." And then he'd take the bottle out of mouth and _moo_ and it was almost cute enough to laugh. He wasn't talking yet, except for a few nonsense words he made up and his constant "mamamamamaaa." You were worried that he wasn't talking yet, since he was almost one and a half. One time, you said something about it when my mom was around, and she just took your hand and said, "Darlin' girl, you don't want your boy to grow up rushed and unsteady like a willow that will snap in the breeze. You want him to grow slow and sturdy like an oak so you know that he can withstand whatever the world throws at him." After she said that you were much more calm about Caleb developing at his own pace. I'm not worried. I think our boy will be an oak.

After he ate the cheerios and banana and I cleaned his face and hands with baby wipes, I quietly asked you to pull over so I could change his diaper. You pulled over and kept the engine running as I took Caleb around to the back of the car where I have a little changing station set up. Caleb babbled as I changed him and snapped his puppy pajamas back up. And even though he didn't need me in the back seat to feed him anymore, I climbed in next to him again so I wouldn't have to sit next to you and feel your anger radiating into my skin. I still wasn't sure I should have told you, but you thought I had made a big mistake and I had a feeling I'd be paying the price for a while. We drove all the way back to Columbus in stony silence.

When we pulled onto our street, I started anticipating the relief of not having to be cooped up with you and your anger. I started packing up Caleb's diaper bag, putting away the toys I'd entertained him with while you drove. The inside of our car reminded me of the ground at the end of winter. You could see the floor, but scraps of paper and little toys and crumbs slanted up against the walls like sludge refusing to melt. As I ducked down to pick up a few stray cheerios, you spoke to me in a shaking, serious voice.

"Brittany," you said. "You need to act completely cool, okay? Just take Caleb out of his carseat and go right inside. I'll do the talking."

I sat up, tossing the dirty cheerios in the bag I was using for trash. I frowned and was about to ask why, but found I didn't need to. As I looked down the street, I saw a police car parked outside our house with a man in uniform leaning against it.

It was Tim.


	9. The Heart of the House

**A/N: Thanks to terriblemuriel and FrogsRcool for their help!**

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><p>Chapter 9 - The Heart of the House<p>

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><p>Tim was tall and lanky with blonde hair. The way he was leaning against his cruiser like he owned the street made my heart race faster than it ever had in my whole life. He was definitely not someone I wanted to talk to. I was relieved you gave me instructions, because if it were me, I probably would have just turned around and gone back to my parents' house, shaking and crying the whole way.<p>

"Don't say anything," you instructed.

I swallowed and nodded.

You pulled into the driveway and as soon as you put the car in park, I unbuckled Caleb. He's getting so big and heavy, but I held him against my chest before I opened the door. I slid down and glanced over at Tim. I was trying to act natural, but it's hard to do that when you know the person in front of you has beaten someone you love.

"Good morning, ladies," Tim said, walking towards us as you locked the car.

"Morning, officer," you greeted curtly.

"Where have you been this fine morning?" he asked with a cat-like smile. It made me shiver.

"Our son had to go to the emergency room last night," you said, plastering on a look of relief that our boy was 'okay' now. "He had a high fever and wouldn't stop crying."

I could feel Tim's eyes on me and Caleb as I walked up to the front door and dug my keys out of my purse. I held Caleb tightly and whispered. "We're home now, baby. Everything's okay." Caleb looked back at Tim as I unlocked the door.

"Is that so?" Tim asked.

I heard your voice moving towards me as I walked inside. "Yup. They gave him a fever reducer and hopefully it'll make him sleepy."

"Hopefully," Tim said. There was an edge to his voice that made my skin crawl.

I waited for you in the entryway, straining to hear if anything more was said. But soon enough you came in and closed the door, locking it behind you. You exhaled and I felt my stomach loosen just a bit.

You looked at me for the first time in hours. Your eyes were scared, dark, and apologetic. I was so relieved and I felt myself start to melt a little bit after hours of being frozen in fear.

You moved over to the windows and shut the blinds before peeking out. After a moment I heard a car door slam and your eyes followed what must have been Tim driving away.

"Is he gone?" I whispered. I already knew the answer but I wanted you to talk to me.

You nodded, letting the blinds snap shut. "Let's go upstairs," you suggested. Your voice was urgent, like we needed to hurry.

I turned and walked up, thinking I should probably change Caleb's diaper and put him in some normal clothes. You followed close behind us, looking over your shoulder, down at the locked door. When I reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the nursery, you touched my arm. "I'll do it," you said. You needed something to do to calm your nerves. I handed Caleb to you - it's a bit more of a heave these days, since he's so big - and you walked into the nursery, your eyes fixed on the floor.

I sat in the rocking chair as you handed him a book and started to change him. I looked around his room, noting his rabbit was stuck under the blanket in his crib. We had left so suddenly in the middle of the night, I hadn't even thought to grab his rabbit. I felt terrible about that. Caleb hardly ever goes anywhere without his rabbit. At least he hadn't gotten scared or too fussy on the drive. That was a relief.

These days Caleb is pretty active in his crib when he's not asleep. I usually notice right away when he wakes up, but a week ago I walked in after a nap to find him with one foot over the rail, trying to climb out. I ran forward hushing, "No, no, baby, that's dangerous!" Caleb had looked startled and almost burst into tears. When I get worried, he gets worried too. I felt bad about scaring him, but at least he hadn't tried to climb out again. Maybe he's outgrown his crib.

"Do you think we should get him a toddler bed?" I asked.

"Sure," you said. The word was short and you kept your attention on Caleb as you put him in a pair of green sweats. You weren't mad, just scared about Tim and it was affecting your attention. I didn't blame you.

"I'll see if I can pick one up this week," I said.

You nodded and finished pulling Caleb's shirt over his head. "Or we could go together this weekend," you offered. You were still distracted, but trying to let me know you weren't as angry as before.

I just rocked back and forth in the rocking chair and watched as Caleb looked up at you as you swept his hair to the side so it framed his face. He is so handsome and you are so very sweet with him.

You heaved him up off the changing table and turned to face me. "Can I put him down for his morning nap?" you asked. He was still taking two naps a day most days, and the days he skipped morning nap were miserable because he was _so_ cranky the rest of the day.

I nodded and got up from the chair so you could rock him to sleep. I closed the nursery door and went into our bedroom. I decided I should take a shower. As the hot water rushed down me, I felt my shoulders and legs start to unclench and the adrenaline wash out of my muscles. I was looking forward to crawling into bed and getting a little bit of sleep while Caleb slept.

By the time I got out of the shower and got dressed, you came into the bedroom. You looked ashamed like a puppy with her tail between her legs, but you also looked a little scared.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," you said in a hushed voice as you walked forward and took my face between your palms. "I'm so sorry I lashed out at you in the car."

I looked to the side and gave you a little shrug. I didn't know if you were really calmed down yet. Too much had happened too quickly for you to be totally calm now. And I didn't know if you were the one who needed to apologize. Maybe I'd messed up by keeping Julie's secret. You had made it sound like I had, especially the part about taking pictures for evidence. I really should have thought about that.

I glanced at you and saw your eyes were darting back and forth between mine. You swallowed.

"Brittany, I would never- You know I would never hit you, right?" you stuttered.

I looked down at the ground and nodded. I know you'd never hit me. But I still get scared when you're angry. Fists aren't the only thing to be afraid of. Words are scary too.

"I will never, ever hit you," you whispered and your voice trembled.

I nodded again. I've never been worried you'll hit me. It was the last thing on my mind right now. I finally looked up at you and your eyes were searching me, trying to pry me open and listen to my thoughts so you could know how to comfort me and by extension, yourself. But after sitting so long in the car with your anger and coming home to find the person who used my best friend as a punching bag in our driveway, I wasn't ready to let anyone in. I can't always open up when you want me to. No one can.

You took a breath. That meant you were going to try another approach. I braced myself for it.

"Britt, I want to tell you something."

I wasn't expecting that. You were giving me a peek into your mind before demanding to see mine. That felt much safer.

"Do you remember my aunt Maritza?"

I thought back to when we were young and I used to come over to your house because you had a hot tub and we could sit in there and drink rum and coke out of our Cheerio water bottles and pretend we weren't sneaking peeks at each other in our bikinis. Those were good days. Sometimes your aunt Martiza would be staying in the guest room above the hot tub and we'd have to be quiet so she couldn't hear us talking over the jets. She didn't come out of her room much.

"Yeah, I remember her."

You swallowed again. "I used to have to get frozen peas for her too."

It took me a second to understand what you meant, but as soon as I remembered you holding the peas up to Julie's face just a few hours ago I understood.

I was stunned. Your aunt used to come and stay with your parents once in a while, but I never thought twice about why, or about the fact that no other relatives ever came to stay with you.

"My dad would treat her injuries and if I ever asked questions my mom would hush me and tell me to get fresh peas. It's just... in Latin families it's not talked about."

Domestic violence isn't talked about much anywhere, but I understood that you were trying to explain why your parents had never reported it. I imagined your father, who would never hurt a fly and has spent his life trying to keep people healthy and pain-free, grappling with the same feelings I had about Julie.

You took a breath and kept talking. "She would come to us a few times a year and say she was done with my uncle Victor and ask for our help. But she'd always go back." You looked away and your eyes got suddenly sadder as you shuddered. "I never understood why she went back..." You took a deep breath, trying to steel yourself. You shut your eyes for a minute. "I don't want Julie to turn out like my aunt."

I was afraid of the answer, but I had to ask. "What happened to her?"

"Well, my uncle died about five years ago," you exhaled, raising your eyebrows to convey that it had been a relief to you and everyone who knew Maritza.

I remembered you telling me your uncle had died of mesothelioma a while back, but when I pouted and asked you if you were going to the funeral, you gave me a curt _no_ and went back to unloading the dishwasher. That _no_ told me not to ask you why.

"My aunt took care of him until his last breath and I just... I was so _mad_ at her for doing it. He made her life hell and she just _went along_ with it, like there was no other choice."

"But what about now?" I asked.

You gave me a sad shrug and looked at the carpet. "Now she just drifts. She's even sadder than she was before. It's like she's just a shell of a person. I thought maybe after he died she'd come alive again, but she didn't..." Your brow knit. You were perplexed but also so confused and sad for your aunt. You closed your eyes and shuddered. As you spoke again, your words caught in your throat and started to squeak. "One time he knocked out two of her teeth..."

You were getting worked up and I could tell you hadn't talked about this before. I just put my hands on your arms and made the quiet hushing noise I make when Caleb starts to wake up but still needs to sleep. I didn't mean to tell you to be quiet, but I wanted to lull the feelings that were upsetting you into peacefulness.

Two tears dripped, one after the other, down your cheeks. Without prompting, you leaned forward into me and rested your cheek on my collarbone.

"Baby, can we make a promise?" you whispered. You sounded desperate and scared.

I hummed a response and I felt you swallow against my chest.

"Can we promise that no matter how much Caleb misbehaves and frustrates us, we will never, ever spank him?"

I rubbed your back to soothe you. "Yes," I said, firm and resolved. "Absolutely."

You nodded against me. "I don't want him to think hitting is ever okay."

I nodded back.

The world is a very scary place and there are terrible people in it. But I have you, and you're the best person in the world to face it with. You and I have the opportunity to teach one person - a man, no less - that violence solves nothing. Having that opportunity is perhaps the biggest honor and responsibility we've ever been given. My heart swelled, knowing that we both thought it was so important.

After you cried for a minute, we tried to take a nap while Caleb did, but I couldn't sleep. I just kept thinking about Julie and Tim and Maritza. I realized if I were you and found out I'd been keeping Julie's secret, I probably would have reacted the way you did too. Not talking about domestic violence solves nothing and gives people like Tim too much power. I know that now. It's just hard to know who to talk about it with.

* * *

><p>That evening after Caleb went to bed, I called my parents' house to talk to Julie. Her voice was shaking a bit and she seemed really distracted, but I couldn't blame her. If I had to leave everything I know, I'd feel disoriented and shaky too. She focused on Zoe, saying Zoe liked my parents' house and was playing with Caleb's toys and loving the back yard. She asked if I knew anything about Yoshi, and it broke my heart to tell her I didn't know anything.<p>

When I talked to my parents, they spoke in low voices. "She hasn't eaten much," my dad reported, "And whenever we hear the doorbell ring or a car door slam outside, she looks like she's seen a ghost. But she cooked us dinner and is keeping your mom company. She's such a sweet girl."

I bit my lip and imagined Julie walking through the familiar rooms of my parents' house, feeling out of place and scared for her life. It was heartbreaking. I wanted her to have the same feeling I get when I walk through my parents' house. It's the ultimate comfort, knowing that no matter what, I have a safe place to go. Whenever I visit it feels frozen in time since the last time I left.

You talked to Julie after I did. I couldn't hear what she was saying to you, but I could hear her voice was more strained and the pitch was higher. She was worried.

"We don't have to do anything today," you said. Your voice was smooth like the curve of your cheeks when you're serious. "You just focus on taking care of yourself and Zoe and staying safe. I will let you know the minute I hear something."

Julie talked for a moment before you took a breath. You were hesitant to get into details when Julie was so fragile. "Well, we shouldn't start filing divorce papers until we know what the D.A.'s going to do... I know... I know," you cooed. You were trying to soothe her and I loved you all the more for it. "I'll get in touch with the Domestic Peace Center first thing Monday morning. We can get you signed up for some support services and talk to a legal expert who specializes in this... Of course I'll help you, but I want you to have the best..."

I wrapped my arm around your waist and kissed your cheek. You were saying all the right things. I was so relieved that you were helping her so much.

The next morning I heard Caleb rustling in his crib before you woke up. I quickly switched off the monitor and slipped out of bed, tiptoeing into his nursery. Bathed in early morning light through his curtains, he was standing against the rail and grinning as I walked in the room. His hair was going in ten different directions which made him even more adorable. He reached out for me and said, "Hug!"

Something in my chest burst when he said that. Until now his only word had been a droning _Mamamamamamaaa_, but there was no mistaking, he had said _hug_. I beamed at him and reached down to lift him out of his crib so I could hold him next to my heart. He wrapped his arms around my neck and I felt happier than I had in a long time. Our son may take every ounce of energy I have some days, but there is no question, all the effort we put into raising him, we get back in love.

"I will give you a hundred hugs, Caleb," I murmured. I kissed his cheek and breathed in the faint hint of baby skin.

I changed his diaper but kept him in his monkey pajamas, also known as his "oo oo ah ah" pajamas. To tide him over until breakfast, I took him downstairs and made him a bottle, which he put in his mouth and started devouring. I took him back upstairs and quietly opened the door to the bedroom. You were still asleep on your side, facing us with your lower arm outstretched towards my side of the bed. Holding Caleb to my chest, I slipped back into my spot next to you, making sure not to squish your arm by positioning it under my neck. I rolled over, placing Caleb between us.

When Caleb snuggled up against you and you heard him quietly sucking on his bottle, you hummed without opening your eyes, moved your top arm from its place on the pillow, and wrapped it around Caleb, drawing him closer to you. I scooted towards you so I was curled around him too and together we formed an oyster shell with Caleb as the pearl. I put my hand on your side as Caleb reached up and touched your face before taking the bottle out of his mouth with a squelch and saying, "Hug."

Your eyes opened for a second to look down at Caleb and grin. You drew him even closer to you as you closed your eyes again, kissing his hair and murmuring, "Hug."

I don't know if you fell asleep again. I know you were exhausted, but I hoped that you were awake and that you were having just as much of a paradise moment as I was. Even though the world is full of awful things, at least we have moments of serenity with each other.

* * *

><p>A week went by and nothing awful happened. The sharp vigilance we both felt since Julie had come to us in the middle of the night started to dull. That tense feeling in my belly whenever I drove up or down our street started to fade. We still locked our doors all the time, but it was easier to sleep.<p>

Caleb started using a few more words. Rather than just lifting his arms and grunting when he wanted to be held, he said "up." When one of us left for work in the morning, he'd grin and wave and say "bye-bye." And at every meal, he always wanted "más."

One day shortly after you went to work, Caleb pointed towards the door. "Go," he said, "Me go."

"You want to go to work with Mama?" I asked, wiping down the tray of his highchair.

He shook his head. "Go," he repeated, pointing again. As I went to squeeze out the sponge, he reached for my hand and pulled it towards the door.

"You want to go for a walk?" I said.

"Walk," Caleb echoed. "Go walk."

I smiled down at him. "Okay, we can go for a walk. Let's go put on our shoes."

"Shoes," Caleb said.

He may have taken longer than most children to start talking, but he was sure catching up.

I tied on the mini Converse you had bought him a month ago and slipped on my trusty Keds. Much to his chagrin, I rubbed sunscreen on his face and neck and arms. He blinked and wrinkled up his nose, but he knew that I wouldn't let him outside if he didn't have sunscreen on, so he tried not to fuss. He's a very smart boy. He's only one and a half, but he understands that things go in a sequence. Dinner comes before bath. Stories come before nap. Sunscreen comes before outside time.

When I had rubbed the sunscreen almost all the way in, I grabbed my keys and sunglasses and unlocked the door. We walked down the street. It was late August, but it wasn't too hot yet because it was still early in the day. Our street was peaceful. The sycamore trees provided a canopy above us and patches of green and yellow light danced on the sidewalk as Caleb plodded along beside me. It's hard to believe only a year ago he was still small enough to be strapped to my chest in the Snuggler.

When we got to the corner, I turned and tried to steer Caleb along with me. I didn't want to walk past Julie's house. It was eerie. Even if Tim was at work, it made me sad that my best friend's life was so different and far away now.

But Caleb tugged at my hand and pointed towards Julie's house.

"No, baby, Zoe can't play today," I said with a pout.

Caleb pointed again. "Me go," he said.

I know I'm the grown up and I get to decide where we walk. But Caleb was so new to talking, and he was used to going across the street to Julie's house, and sometimes he gets upset if we do things differently. I didn't want to upset him. It was such a nice day and aside from me feeling a little creepy about it, there really wasn't a reason not to walk past Julie's house. Tim's police cruiser wasn't parked outside, which meant he was at work. So I sighed and turned, stooping down to help Caleb practice looking both ways before we crossed the street.

When we got to Julie's driveway, I felt a little shiver run through me. I had been inside her house dozens of times since I found out she was being hurt. I'd sat in her backyard eating melon and watching the babies play on the grass. I'd made homemade applesauce in her kitchen and watched the babies devour it in their high chairs. I'd celebrated Julie's birthday with cupcakes and fresh lemonade. But now that she was gone, the awfulness of it wasn't dulled by those good memories. I didn't want to think about it, so I started singing one of Caleb's favorite songs.

"How much is that doggy in the window? The one with the waggly tail? How much is that doggy in the window? I do hope that doggy's for sale!"

Usually Caleb would woof after each verse, but this time he didn't. He stopped walking and pointed towards Julie's house. He looked back and forth between me and the fence with inquisitive eyes. After just a second, I heard Yoshi bark.

My heart clenched. Every day when I talked to Julie, she asked about Yoshi. I always felt bad that I had nothing to report. But maybe I could peek over the fence and make sure he was okay. I thought about trying to take a picture, but I decided sending a picture of Julie's precious dog to her would be cruel. She missed him too much.

I let Caleb lead me towards the side of the house where Yoshi was yapping away. He doesn't bark much, but when he does, it's loud and piercing. I could hear Yoshi scratching and pawing at the gate, so I lifted Caleb up so he could peer over.

Yoshi looked up at us and it seemed like he was smiling as he wagged his tail and panted with his tongue hanging out. He let out a few more yips as Caleb giggled and pointed. "Woof!" Caleb proclaimed, looking at me with a grin.

"Yeah, that's a doggy," I smiled at him. "Zoe's doggy."

"Woof," Caleb chirped again.

Then I had a fleeting thought that made me stop breathing.

My heart beat in my ears as I unlatched the gate and set Caleb down so he could pet Yoshi. I tried to pretend Julie wasn't hours away and Tim couldn't come home any minute. After just a few moments of watching Caleb pet Yoshi, I knew I wouldn't be able to just leave Yoshi there. My heart raced and I swallowed. I couldn't believe what I was about to do.

"Caleb, you wanna have an adventure today?" I asked. My mouth was dry.

Caleb didn't answer because he was too busy giggling as Yoshi pawed his chest and licked his face. I took that as a yes. For some reason, rescuing Yoshi when I was with Caleb didn't feel as dangerous as rescuing Yoshi alone.

Before I picked Yoshi up, I had to come up with an excuse if someone caught me walking down the street with him. Especially if it was Tim. I thought of all the things I could say to make stealing a dog seem normal. I couldn't just say that Yoshi was barking or something. When a dog barks too much you call the cops. Yoshi wasn't barking too much and I didn't trust cops like I used to.

I decided that if Tim happened to see me with Yoshi, I would just tell him that I walked Yoshi all the time for Julie and that when Caleb heard him barking, we decided to take him on an impromptu walk. That was normal and half true. And I could pretend that it was just a little game and Tim could play the part of the thankful owner, like he had pretended to play the concerned neighbor when we told him Caleb was sick. It wasn't foolproof, but my heart ached for Julie so much, and I knew that having her dog with her would make her feel just a little bit safer.

I picked Caleb and Yoshi up. They were both heavy and I tried to ignore the burn in my arms as I carried them down the street. Thank goodness my adrenaline made it less painful than it should have been. When we got home, I set both Caleb and Yoshi down in the entryway and quickly grabbed my purse, a box of crackers, and Caleb's diaper bag.

"Ready for our adventure, Caleb?" I said as I put on my sunglasses. I tried to sound playful and energetic so he wouldn't know how terrified I was. I'm pretty sure stealing a dog is a felony. But we weren't stealing him, were we? We were taking him to one of his owners.

Caleb clapped and followed close behind me as we walked outside and loaded into my blue SUV. We sped towards Lima - the quicker we got away from Columbus, the better - singing a few rounds of _How Much Is That Doggy In The Window?_ I hoped the answer wasn't _ten to fifteen years._

Caleb fell asleep after eating a few crackers and I spent the drive in anxious anticipation of seeing Julie and what you would say when you inevitably found out what I had done. Yoshi curled up in the seat next to Caleb and slept most of the drive.

When we arrived at my parents' house, I left Yoshi in the car for a minute. I unlocked the front door and called upstairs as I set Caleb down in the entryway. My dad was volunteering at the library and my mom was at her church social committee meeting, but Julie appeared at the top of the stairs, peeking her head around the corner to look. She still looked frail and scared. Her bruise had gone from purple to a faint yellow, but she looked like she hadn't slept in days. When she saw it was me, she gave me a relieved smile. "Hi!" she breathed, trotting down the stairs. "I'm so happy to see you."

I met her halfway up the stairs and gave her a gentle hug, rubbing her back for a moment.

"I'm happy to see you too," I murmured, making my words soft like a blanket. I was glad to see her here, in a place I knew was safe, but I wish she looked healthier.

Zoe appeared at the top of the stairs and waved down at Caleb, who gave her a toothy grin.

"Caleb and I brought you something," I said, barely able to contain my excitement as I imagined Julie's face when she saw her dog. "It's in the car. Will you help me bring it in?"

"You didn't have to do that..." Julie said in a soft, ashamed voice. "You and your family have done too much already."

I shrugged because I felt we couldn't do enough for her. "Come help."

Julie followed me, her footsteps heavy. When we got out to the driveway, I opened the side door of my car and Yoshi started yapping and wagging his tail frantically, happy to be freed from the car.

Julie's face looked shocked and elated as she darted forward and picked him up. She held him to her chest and let him lick her face over and over as she started to cry.

"Oh my god, Britt!" she whimpered. "Oh my god, how did you do it?" she asked. She started to shake as she kissed Yoshi's snout back. Yoshi trembled with happiness in Julie's arms, his tail wagging so hard he almost twisted away from her.

Seeing Julie and Yoshi so happy made me start to cry too. Caleb had toddled to the doorway and was watching Julie with wide eyes and a serious face.

"I just opened the side gate and he came to meet us," I said with a watery smile. "No big deal."

"No big deal!" Julie said in alarm, "Oh my god, Britt, you could have been arrested!"

I gave her a shrug that probably looked a little smug. I knew it was dangerous and you'd probably yell at me later. But seeing Julie reunited with her dog made me absolutely sure I had done the right thing. "I think it was worth it."

Julie sniffled a little while longer before Zoe appeared on the porch and shrieked, "Puppy!"

Julie looked up at Zoe with a tearful, relieved smile. "Yeah, puppy came to stay with us!" she said. "Puppy missed us, Zoe!"

Zoe carefully walked down the steps, pausing with both feet on each step before stepping down to the next one. Then she ran over to the car and reached up for Yoshi. As Julie lowered Yoshi so Zoe could grab at his fur and kiss his head, I never wanted to leave. I wanted to stay and take care of Julie and Zoe like this forever.

Julie set Yoshi down in the driveway and Yoshi ran back and forth between the stairs and Julie, eyes bulging out and tail wagging so hard I thought it would fall off. Caleb got down on his hands and knees and crawled backwards down the steps. I watched him carefully, but didn't run to help him. He's getting pretty good at going up and down stairs.

Julie covered her mouth with her hand and watched Zoe and Yoshi shriek in delight. After a minute she moved her hand to her heart and sighed.

"Thank you, Britt," she mumbled. "This is the best thing that's happened to me in months."

Seeing her so happy after months of seeing her sad felt so good. I wanted to make her even happier. "Is there anything you need?" I offered. "Clothes or food or toiletries or anything?"

Julie looked up at me and seemed conflicted. I was absolutely sure there were things she needed, but she hated asking. "Well-" she halted for a second. "I guess we need dog food," she said. "But I don't have any money..." she trailed off, looking down the street because she was ashamed.

"We'll get some," I said. "How about we pick up some sandwiches and have lunch at the park before we go to the pet store?"

Julie gave me a small smile. She liked the idea, but she hated accepting help. She didn't have a choice, though. I was going to help her no matter what.

We picked up food at the deli - sandwiches and salads for me and Julie, plain cold cuts and cheese slices for Caleb, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Zoe, and apple juice for everyone - and went to the park. After we ate, Julie and I sat at the picnic table while Caleb and Zoe chased Yoshi around on the grass.

Julie's gaze was forlorn as she watched them. Instead of asking what was wrong, I waited for her to speak. After a minute she did.

"She keeps asking where daddy is," Julie said, looking down at her hands and picking at her nails. "It's getting harder to avoid the question."

I gave her a slow, thoughtful nod. I would have no idea what to say to Zoe either. It's hard enough to answer Caleb when he looks up at me, eyebrows knit together in concern, asking, "Mamamaa?" Somehow _she'll be home for dinner_ doesn't feel comforting enough when Caleb looks concerned. He really misses you during the day, you know. I know you like being a lawyer, but sometimes I wish you'd chosen a career that didn't mean working such long hours. We both miss you.

"I wish someone could just tell me what to do," Julie sighed. She studied her hands for another minute. "I feel like I really fucked up," she admitted. She brought her hand to her forehead to shield her face from me.

"You didn't fuck up," I assured her. "You are _so_ brave, Julie. Someday Zoe will understand and be proud of you."

Julie started shaking her head back and forth slowly. "How could anyone understand doing something so impulsive and selfish?" she mumbled. "I have absolutely nothing to raise her with. I think- I think I should just go back to him and say I'm sorry."

My heart sped up and I wanted to shout _No!_ but I made my body sit still and wait for her to explain.

"I have eight dollars in my wallet, Brittany. I don't have a car, or a job, or a place to live, or even food for my dog," Julie gasped. "I have _nothing_. I can't raise a child with nothing. Tim may not be a millionaire, but we're comfortable. We have a nice house and we're near you, and..." She trailed off, her gaze following Zoe and Caleb as they toddled around the grass, shrieking and laughing and playing with Yoshi, who was yipping and standing on his hind legs to playfully paw at them. Julie sighed. Her voice was forlorn as she said, "If I don't go back to him, I have nothing to give her that doesn't come from the kindness of others."

I tried to imagine what you would say to Julie when she was talking like this. It sounded like she was planning to go back to Tim and I had to fight to keep my arms and legs from squirming. I didn't want what happened to Maritza to happen to her. She's such a gentle, loving soul, I could imagine her forgiving him for the rest of her life and caring for him in his old age. I didn't want that. I knew she was uncomfortable asking for help, but the alternative didn't have to be getting hit.

I know when I'm scared or sad it's impossible to imagine good things will happen. I guess it makes sense to imagine and plan for the worst. It's a survival tactic. But some dark clouds pass over without raining. I tried to find the best way to remind her of that, since she couldn't remember right now.

I took her hand between mine. "You know what I see when I look at you?" I asked. Julie flicked her eyes up to mine to ask _what_. "I see someone who, in a year or so, will have a totally different life. You'll have your own apartment and Zoe might even have her own room. She'll go to daycare and you'll have a job. Yoshi will be so happy to see you when you get home every day. And you'll have friends that come over all the time. Not just me and Santana, new friends too. And someday Zoe is going to have so much respect for you because you did the hardest, bravest thing in the world. And you did it for _her_. So yeah, maybe you don't have a lot of stuff to give her at the moment. But you have more love to give than most kids get from _two_ parents. You love her enough to take her out of a home where violence was okay."

Julie fidgeted and her eyes scanned the width of the table.

"And even if you were with Tim, it still takes a village to raise a child. Santana and I depend a lot on my sister and my parents and her dad." I would have said that we depend on Julie too, but I didn't want her to feel any more burden than she already did. "No one raises a child without help. Maybe you just need a little more help from your village than you're comfortable with."

Julie pursed her lips and nodded.

"Don't sell yourself short," I murmured. "You have a _lot_ to give her. You just can't see it."

Julie's gaze fell to the ground. She wasn't convinced. I decided to just say what I meant rather than trying to dress it up with pretty, hopeful images.

"Julie, _please_ don't go back to him. I know you love him, but I don't want you to get hurt."

Julie sighed. "It just seems like it would be a million times easier than this."

I could understand why she thought that. Really, I could.

"I just think about it when I get embarrassed or discouraged," she mumbled, shrugging with one shoulder.

I took her hand in mine and said "This is temporary, okay? You can call me when you're embarrassed or discouraged. You can call every night at three in the morning if it means you don't go back to him."

Julie nodded. "Okay. Do you want the rest of my salad?" she offered. She didn't want to talk about it any more. She pushed the plastic container towards me and I smiled. I forked a few bites and our attention turned back to the babies who weren't really babies anymore.

After Caleb and Zoe and Yoshi exhausted themselves at the park, we bought some dog food and went back to my parents' house. I unloaded a few bags of clothes and things you and I had bagged to take to Julie and Zoe. Julie kept her head down as she helped me carry them inside my parents' house. I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek and promised to return soon.

When Caleb and I loaded ourselves back into the car a little while later, I still wasn't sure if I should tell you we had dognapped Yoshi. When you got home that night I still hadn't decided. We ate a quiet dinner and as I chewed, I realized I had to tell you or risk another blowup.

"Caleb and I had a bit of an adventure today," I began.

"Oh yeah?" you said, raising your eyebrows over a smile. "What did you do?"

I braced myself. "We went for a walk," I said, "And then-"

I was cut off by the sound of the doorbell.

You set down your spoon and held up your finger. "Hang on, tell me in a second." You got out of your chair and went to the door.

When you were out of earshot I whispered to Caleb, "I hope Mama's not mad about our adventure."

Caleb picked up a piece of broccoli and bit the end off, staring at me with a serious face.

"Officer Owens," you greeted. Your words were stiff in comparison to the voice you use with me, but it wasn't hostile. It was perfect for addressing an officer.

I froze. Tim had come looking for Yoshi. I was sure. Maybe I had done the stupidest thing in the world today. Maybe I had put everyone in danger.

"Good evening, ma'am," Tim said. "Have you seen a little dog running around the neighborhood at all today?"

"I haven't," you said. "Did someone call it in?"

"Yeah, we got a missing canine report a few hours ago," Tim said, his voice swaggering a bit, as if he were using actual police lingo.

"Oh gosh, sorry to hear that. I'll keep my eye out and let you know if I see any strays."

There was a pause and I imagined Tim was eying you while you looked him square in the eye and gave him a confident look that would convince him you were telling the truth. You always know how to make it clear with your tone of voice that you're done with a conversation. I need you to teach me how to do that.

"Well you have a good evening, ma'am," Tim finally said.

I heard the door close and your footsteps come back towards us.

"Sorry about that," you said. You sat back down and put your napkin in your lap. I was so nervous I didn't know what to do. I watched you as you picked up your spoon and took a bite. You kept your eyes on your plate as you chewed and swallowed. Before spooning up another bite you said, "So did your adventure today involve freeing a lonely Pomeranian?"

I wanted to lie because I knew that you might get really angry. Caleb was right there and I don't like the idea of him watching us fight. But I knew better than to lie this time.

"Yes," I mumbled.

You set down your spoon and bit your lips and squeezed your eyes shut. My stomach tied itself in knots. The explosion was coming.

But to my surprise your lips curled up as you tried not to smile. I gave you a tentative smile back.

"I should be furious with you," you finally said when you couldn't hold your smile in. "That was really _flipping_ dangerous." You would have cursed if Caleb hadn't been staring at you, contemplating your face as he chewed his broccoli.

"Sorry," I said. I looked at Caleb who was looking back and forth at us, unsure if he should be worried.

You looked at him and then back at me. "You're not sorry," you grumbled. "You're pretty pleased with yourself."

I smiled and Caleb smiled in relief.

"It was Caleb's idea," I said.

"I'm sure it was. You two are going to be the death of me," you said, shaking your head. "At least I didn't have to lie to an officer."

"He probably wasn't even on duty," I said. "Whoever heard of a Missing Canine Report anyway?"

"And who does he think he is, calling me Ma'am? I'm not even thirty..."

We picked up our spoons and kept eating. Under the table where Caleb couldn't see, you slipped your hand into mine and squeezed. I was so relieved. It was the perfect way to end the day.

* * *

><p>We went to visit Julie most weekends over the next few months. My parents always tried to make it seem like a party, rather than us sneaking out of town to visit our friend who was hiding from her abusive husband. For a week or two after Caleb and I freed Yoshi, Tim parked his cruiser outside our house just to scare us. I hate to admit that it worked; we <em>were<em> scared. But he never came to the door or contacted us. We didn't tell Julie about it because there was nothing she could do and it would only make her feel worse. We were so relieved she didn't go back to him. After a few weeks he stopped parking his cruiser outside and we breathed a little easier.

The Domestic Peace Center was a little bit helpful. There was a support group for survivors, but Julie said she wasn't ready to go. After looking at the waiting list for legal services, you took Julie to meet with a lawyer who specializes in assault and battery charges. You said the Center was covering the fee, but you paid for it yourself and made me promise not to tell Julie. I wouldn't have told her anyway. She feels so guilty about accepting our help, and I know you weren't just doing it for her. You were doing it for Maritza too.

To your surprise, the D.A. decided to press charges, even though there was hardly any evidence and Julie was so reluctant. Julie's court dates were constantly being cancelled and rescheduled, but there wasn't any forward movement. There seemed to be barriers everywhere. Julie was anxious to file for divorce, but you and her attorney kept insisting she wait, reminding her that a conviction of battery could have a huge impact on child custody and who got to keep the house.

Between helping Julie and work and constant wedding-related errands with Elinor, you rarely slept more than six hours a night. But I could see that fire in your eyes that only ignites when you're really challenged. I love that fire. It's one of the things that drew me to you. I didn't feel I had any fire of my own back then, and being near you made me feel warm. Now Caleb is my flame, and I could certainly flare to protect him. But sometimes I wish I had other embers in my life.

When we got Caleb a toddler bed and set it up in his room, he was unsure about it. We brought him in and he looked around his nursery with a nervous expression. But being the smart woman that you are, you gently took his rabbit out of his arms and placed its head on the new pillow. "Will you help me tuck Wabbit in?" you asked. Caleb walked forward and delicately placed the blanket over Wabbit's body, being careful to tuck it under Wabbit's chin and smooth it over Wabbit's tummy. "I think Wabbit likes his new bed," you said with a gentle smile. Caleb sat down on the edge of the bed, studying its height - not even a foot off the ground - and observing Wabbit. After a minute Caleb said _mine_, and didn't put up any fuss when we put him to sleep in it that night.

In the mornings Caleb got out of bed himself and came in to snuggle with us. Those mornings were my favorite, save for the one when we had locked the door the night before for some _alone time_ and forgot to unlock it, causing us to be awakened by him wailing in the hall and rattling the handle. Him not being confined to his crib scared you a little at first, but he's not a troublemaker, so after a while you realized it just saved us having to get out of bed in the middle of the night if he had a bad dream or a tummy ache. He has a sensitive tummy like you, but unlike you, he loves trying new food. The fact that his tummyaches don't deter him from digging into a new dish makes me so happy. There are few things more adorable than Caleb with food all over his face and hands.

A few weeks before Elinor's wedding, you and I took Caleb to rent a suit in a formalwear shop. We spent so long in the store trying on different combinations of bowties and cumberbunds and loafers, Caleb started to get fussy. Usually he's not fussy in public, but he wasn't used to changing so many times, or to having so much attention from strangers for that long. He kept coming back to my chair and leaning over my legs, burying his face in my lap. "All done," he said after each suit. But you kept urging, "Just one more. C'mon, sweet pea, Auntie Elinor wants you to look extra handsome for her special day." I was so relieved Elinor didn't ask Caleb to be the ring bearer, because I think it would have been too much pressure for him. But he sure did look handsome in his suit.

As I did my hair for Elinor's wedding, I looked at myself in the mirror. I still didn't look like I did before Caleb. My hips were wider and my ass was bigger and my stomach wasn't smooth. But I had more appreciation for my body than I did in the months after Caleb's birth. Some days I still wish I could fit into my pre-baby clothes. But after more than two years of being bigger, I've started to get used to it. Sometimes I even feel sexy about it, more womanly and powerful. Your occasional swats at my behind, paired with a wink, are welcome now. Recently there have been a few times when I'd grabbed your wrist, dragged you into the bedroom, and wrestled you down. So maybe I'll never look like a swimsuit model, but I feel good when I'm with you.

We dressed Caleb and you combed his hair before we loaded into the car and drove to the church. I was nervous about Caleb sitting through the wedding ceremony quietly, but he was a little champ in his black suit with the eggplant purple cumberbund and bowtie that matched your dress. I was so proud of you as you stood up there beside Elinor as her maid of honor. I couldn't help but think of our wedding, when Elinor had stood by you in the same way.

Thinking about our wedding reminded me of just how much we've gone through together. In the day-to-day happenings, you are constant to me, like air. But the landmarks we pass together remind me that that air is sacred. Remembering our wedding made my heart swell so big, I could feel it pushing tears into my eyes to make more room in my chest. I'm glad it's normal to cry at weddings. Of course I was overjoyed for Elinor, but I was also crying because I am so damn lucky to have you as my wife.

But what I also remembered from our wedding was being so overwhelmed and exhausted by my pregnancy. I was eight months pregnant then and my feet were killing me and my back hurt. Of course I wanted to have the beautiful ceremony we'd planned, but in truth, I was counting the minutes until I could lie down again. Just the memory of being pregnant made my back and feet ache and I had to cover my mouth as I yawned at the memory of being so tired.

At the reception we were seated at the main table with Elinor's parents and Danielle's dad. I really hoped Caleb wouldn't make too much of a mess, and I had packed his enormous plastic bib in hopes he wouldn't try to accessorize his suit further. As I pulled out the bib, I turned toward Caleb who was sitting on a pillow next to me playing with his fork.

"C'mere, Cay,"

"Leb!" he shrieked.

"What's that, Cay?" I asked with a knowing grin.

"Leb!" he shrieked again.

We had discovered our son is averse to nicknames just a few weeks earlier. Whenever we called him _Cay_, he said _Leb_. It became like a never-ending game of Marco Polo. If I ever need to know where he is, I just shout, "Ca-ay!" and one second later I hear, "Leb!"

After the meal there was cake, which Caleb was all too keen to devour by the handful. But you insisted he use a fork, in hopes less would end up on his suit. He sat in your lap as you helped him with the fork, and he actually did pretty well. He only ended up with a few frosting smears on his pants.

"Okay, buddy, go see Mama Brittany so I can have my cake," you said when he was finished, preparing to hand him to me.

"Mom-ny!" Caleb crowed, pointing to me. He had been calling me that for a few weeks.

"Yeah, that's Mommy!" you corrected, passing him off and patting him on the diaper.

Caleb pointed to you and looked at me, a curious expression on his face. "Mama?" he asked. His eyebrows went up, serious and so eager to please you.

I smiled and you sighed. "I think we should let him call me by the name he made up," I said, bouncing him lightly on her lap. "I think he's trying to say Mommy and Brittany at the same time."

Your smile turned adoring at that. You bent forward and kissed his cheek. "You're a pretty smart guy, Caleb," you cooed. You licked your finger and wiped off a bit of frosting from his nose.

Elinor's mom had been watching us and playing peek-a-boo with Caleb the entire meal. She leaned forward a bit. "Are you two planning to have another?" she asked, studying Caleb with a smile.

You smiled and looked at me expectantly.

I was caught off guard by the question. Lately, all I'd been able to think about was how hard being a mom can be. And more than that, I'd been struggling with the idea. I know we said we wanted two kids when we were starting to plan Caleb. But bringing another baby into a world with such horrible things seemed so precarious. Why would I want to bring another child into a world where someone as gentle and sweet as Julie got hit? Nothing felt safe the way it did before our long journey towards Caleb started.

And besides that, the idea of trying to get pregnant again made me feel sick. It was so hard to go through all those months of trying and wondering if there was something wrong with my body every time I got my period or the test came back negative. And I was just starting to feel normal in my body again. I didn't want that to change.

I needed time to figure out an honest answer to Elinor's mom's question, but I didn't have time. So I just looked down at the tablecloth and shrugged. As soon as I did, I felt guilt sweep over me, cloaking me as I averted my eyes to avoid looking at you as you tried to keep from showing your surprise and hurt. I can't believe I did that in front of other people without talking to you first. Dumb move, Brittany. So I felt I had to explain with light reasons, not real reasons.

"Things are a little too crazy right now," I said, trying to backtrack. "Plus it's not exactly a fun task, giving birth."

"Hey, I'm glad I never have to go through that again!" Elinor's mom laughed, raising a hand in solidarity. The group laughed, but yours was forced.

I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I could almost feel the way your heart clenched.

Elinor put her hand on her mom's shoulder, bending over to ask a question I couldn't quite hear.

You glanced back at me. Your eyes were dark and I could swear they were crying, even though your lipstick-covered mouth was locked in a forced smile for the wedding party. I can't read your mind. But I'm pretty damn good at reading your face. And your face was absolutely heartbroken.

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><p>You looked in the mirror as you removed your earrings, watching me as I sat on the edge of the bed taking off my shoes. Caleb was in the nursery, fast asleep, worn out from being passed around all night and showing off his moves on the dance floor. You set your earrings on the counter and turned to face me. Your shoulders were braced and I knew you weren't quite sure it was okay to bring up whatever you were about to say.<p>

"Hey Britt?" your started softly, walking towards the bed, "Why did you say that?"

I froze inside for a second. I didn't expect you to bring it up so soon. I expected you to let it stew until it came out over an argument over who's turn it was to take out the trash or why there was only crunchy peanut butter in the cabinet.

"You know why," I sighed, eyes downcast.

"It was really hard," you acknowledged.

I nodded. I was glad I didn't have to tell you out loud that I didn't think I could handle another disappointing insemination or round of post-partum. I love Caleb more than anything and I wouldn't trade him for the world. You _know_ that. But I can't do it again.

You sank into the bed next to me, trying to meet my eyes. I think you knew the conception and pregnancy had been harder than I let on. And I know it was hard for you to watch me struggle.

You took a breath and held it for a second, unsure but determined.

"Whenever we talked about having kids, we always agreed we wanted two," you said. You paused for a moment before continuing. "I really want to complete our family."

I couldn't believe you were pushing this right now. It was late, my feet hurt, and we were both so tired. It was an argument waiting to happen. I made my voice sound extra tired, hoping you would drop the subject. "I know, baby, but I just _can't_ again…"

"I'm not asking you to carry another baby," you murmured.

I frowned. I needed you to just say what you meant, because my brain was starting to feel fuzzy and muddled.

"I'm saying _I_ want to carry our next baby."

I was shocked. Of course you'd entertained the idea at some point in your life, but I never thought you'd seriously consider getting pregnant. You hate pain, take pride in your figure, and hadn't expressed any interest in carrying when we started planning Caleb. After the ninth disappointment, you made a passing offer, but I didn't think it was anything other than an effort to soothe me, assuring me we'd figure out a way to make our family. But I couldn't say any of those things because I didn't want to hurt your feelings. There was a moment of silence before I spoke. "You're way too busy."

"I could make myself less busy. I don't have to work so much," you shrugged.

Now you were just being foolish. "Don't be silly," I frowned. "Of course you have to work."

Your face was solemn. "I can find something less crazy."

I looked at you quizzically. "You can't give up your job. That's your _life_."

You frowned but kept your voice gentle. "Not it's not. My family is my life. I married you, not my job."

You were being so sweet, but I felt like you weren't thinking everything through. You're impulsive about things you're passionate about. "You can't just leave. The company depends on you. And besides, we have bills to pay," I protested. "This house doesn't run on breast milk."

"We can work out the details," you murmured, taking my hand. "I'm good with details, remember?"

Maybe you weren't being the impassioned, impulsive Santana I thought. You were very calm on top of the rippling anxiety I'm sure was there, but you weren't fiery. You were still and cool like lakewater.

"This is important," you stressed.

"It's just so much," I sighed. Pregnancy had been so exhausting and I couldn't believe you were even considering taking it on. "I don't want you to do it just because I'm too overwhelmed to have another baby."

"I don't think you're too overwhelmed, Britt. If you wanted to, I know you could do it. It just seems... _easier_ this way."

What you really meant is that you were scared I'd have trouble conceiving again, or that I'd suffer another round of post-partum, or that the labor and delivery wouldn't go as smoothly this time. But you didn't say that out loud. You didn't need to. We were both scared of those things. Those were the reasons I didn't want to carry another baby.

But _you_ being pregnant is scary too. I didn't want to think about it because all I could think of were the hundreds of things that can go wrong.

"Maybe we can adopt in a few years," I suggested. "I know you want to be superwoman, but it's too much."

Now your frown hardened. "It's not too much. Not more than what _you_ did." Your tone was defensive. Here was the argument I knew was coming.

I was getting frustrated with you pushing the issue when I was so tired. "It's not the right time!" I insisted.

You stood up abruptly and spun around. "You're not _listening_, Brittany!" you bristled, exasperated. Your hands were clenched as you tried to restrain yourself from yelling loud enough to wake Caleb. _There_ was fiery Santana. I went icy.

You hardly ever use my full name, and rarely raise your voice at me. It scares me when you do, actually. This time was no exception. A minute before you had been sweet, gentle Santana. Now Scary Lawyer Santana was towering over me. The suddenness of the switch was the scariest part.

You must have seen the fear in my eyes as they darted to the floor because you instantly softened. You knelt in front of me and ran your hands up and down my crossed arms.

"Hey… hey, I'm sorry… I'm sorry, Britt," you cooed. "I didn't mean to yell."

I didn't respond for a minute. I needed a few moments to defrost.

"I'm sorry I scared you," you murmured. "I just feel really strongly about this."

I uncrossed my arms and looked at you.

"When you proposed to me and I told you I wanted to wait, you told me that if we waited for the perfect time, we would never get married. And having a baby is the same way. It's never going to be the perfect time."

You had a point.

"I never thought I would feel closer to you than when we were expecting Caleb," you said, running a hand over my stomach, remembering.

And I remembered that time too; when we had time to ourselves, when we could lay in bed together without falling asleep from sheer exhaustion, when my body didn't creak and groan like an aging house at times. There had been so much sweetness then. We have sweetness now too, but it was simpler before we became three.

"Now that he's here, I realize I was wrong. I know we're exhausted and we hardly get a moment alone... but we're doing this _amazing_ thing. And _he's_ amazing," you smiled.

I couldn't help but smile a little back. Our boy really is amazing.

You kept warming me. "He's brought us closer than I ever imagined. He's our little miracle. We always said we wanted him to have a little brother or sister. If we really want another baby, there's _nothing_ more important to me. I'll do whatever it takes to make our family complete."

I thought for a minute. I imagined the lines of your body rounded and full and soft, reflecting all the brilliance of your heart and all the amazing things you don't know you can do. It was an absolutely beautiful image, one I'd only thought about in secret a few times. But now you were actually talking about it, and I let the image come fully into the light of my mind.

"You actually want to be pregnant?" I asked.

Your eyes darted to the side for a moment and you pursed your lips. You were scared, but brave. "Yes," you whispered.

My heart fluttered with that word. I knew you were telling the truth by the darkness of your eyes and the way you forced yourself to look back at me. You were scared. I didn't want you to be scared. If I talked about practical matters, you'd relax a little. "Will you be able to work things out with your job?"

You nodded. "Denton and I have been talking about bringing on another employee anyway. This would be the perfect catalyst. I even have someone in mind for the position."

"You've thought about this," I said.

You nodded, tears welling up as you looked deep into my eyes. "I've thought about it a _lot_," you admitted. "Way before Elinor's mom asked if we were planning another. I started thinking about it when we were having trouble getting pregnant with Caleb."

You sniffled and I wiped your cheek. I hadn't missed that you said _we_ had trouble getting pregnant, when you could have easily said it was me. It reminded me that we really were in this together.

"You weren't just offering to comfort me?" I asked.

"Partly," you said with a little shrug. "But I would have done it. And now I _want_ to do it."

My heart surged with the same excitement and fear I saw reflected in your face as you looked up at me. I cupped your cheek.

"Our family means the world to me," you continued. "If you can do it, so can I, right?"

I had been so stupid to think otherwise. Of _course_ you can do it, Santana. You are so strong. Looking at your face and seeing the desperation there, I remembered that. When I took away my fears and hesitations about getting pregnant and carrying again, I remembered just how much I want to watch another new life unfold between us. I want Caleb to have his little brother or sister. Everything about our plan for our family was clear again. And the idea of you carrying a child is absolutely beautiful to me.

You turned your head to kiss my palm and I felt your tears smear across my fingers. "I want to have our next baby, Britt."

I melted. Tears swelled and spilled down my cheeks and I drew you into me. I held you there for minutes, listening to our breathing, feeling the warmth of our bodies pressed together.

I kissed your hair. My heart swelled as I said, "I'd love that."


	10. Pride

**A recap for readers who didn't read TtLW**: A year or so out of law school, Elinor got Santana a job working for a congresswoman who was writing the Ohio Marriage Equality bill. Santana, Elinor and her current boss Denton (that's how they met), were part of the bill writing team. Like any piece of civil rights legislation, there was no trial or legal dispute; the battle was purely political. Although Santana is no longer working in politics, she is somewhat of a public figure (though certainly not famous) for her work on the bill, which passed two years ago in this 'verse.

**A/N: Thank you so much to terriblemuriel and FrogsRcool for their help and encouragement with this chapter. It was tough to get through and I definitely relied on them a lot. I think beta-ing can be a pretty thankless job, so after you review, send them a note as well. They work really hard. Thanks also to VenusComb for her feedback and support with this chapter.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: Pride<strong>

I locked the car and strapped Caleb into his stroller. He's a good little walker, but I didn't want to risk him getting too tired to walk back to the car. That happens sometimes, and I love holding him, but after about twenty seconds my arms start to ache. How did our boy get so heavy, Santana? Who told him it was okay to grow up so fast? I feel like just yesterday we were walking through our neighborhood with him strapped to my chest, his tiny, curled body covered with a blanket so the wind wouldn't upset him. But now he's okay with the wind. He blinks when it blows against his face, then smiles and chases leaves. Sometimes the things that scare us become sources of joy.

Much to your dismay, Caleb had outgrown his "Hatched By Two Chicks" onesie quickly, so today he was wearing a shirt Danielle and Elinor gave us before they left on their honeymoon that just said "I Love My Moms." I gave him a little rainbow flag to wave, but I probably should have waited, because he spent the entire car ride waving it and now seemed to have lost interest in it entirely.

You had left the house two hours before us, planning to meet Denton and Marcía - Elinor would have been there if she hadn't been on her honeymoon - for breakfast before marching in the parade. Well, not marching. You get to ride on the back of a convertible with them. This was the second year Marcía was the celebrity grand marshall of Columbus Pride, and I really couldn't wait to see you, beaming and giggling and waving at the crowd as they cheered for you. I still cannot believe that I'm married to someone who helped write one of the most influential pieces of legislation in Ohio. Whenever I tell you how proud I am of you for doing that work, you quickly tell me that you just fell into working on the bill by accident, knowing the right people and being available at the right time. But I always point out that you worked hard for it too. You faced your fears about coming out. You worked your ass off in law school and then took a chance going into politics even though you knew nothing about it. That was brave. And it certainly wasn't mandatory for you to out yourself on National TV during a press conference about the marriage bill. You worked hard and you deserve every single round of applause and cheer you'll get today as Marcía's parade contingent rolls down the parade route. Maybe with the help of everyone at Columbus Pride, you'll finally understand how much admiration, appreciation, and joy I have for you. You have done so much for me, for Caleb, and for countless other people in the world, and my body and voice and words alone are too small to show you just how amazing you are.

As Caleb and I ambled towards the parade route, the crowd thickened. I was worried Caleb would get overwhelmed and start to cry or squirm, but he was sitting calmly, letting the stroller jostle him as he looked around, intrigued by the bright colors and different smells and sounds. Considering Caleb got overwhelmed when you took him to the zoo once, he was certain to get overwhelmed here. That's why we didn't plan to ride with you in the parade. Last year we had planned to ride together, but then I got sick and Caleb was so small, you ended up riding alone and Elinor sent me pictures. When I saw the pictures I burst into tears because I felt like the worst wife ever. You were getting some deserved recognition for all your work and I couldn't even make it out of the house to celebrate with you. But you knew what was happening with me, and you told me that right then my job was to take care of myself and Caleb, and that you looked forward to marching together next year. That made me cry even more because I don't think I deserved that kind of forgiveness.

This year, not only had Pride been moved to October, but I was feeling so much better and Caleb was bigger. I was anxious and excited to see you the way others see you: my celebrity politician wife. I called you that once and you laughed and told me you were neither a celebrity nor a politician. But I think you are. Just because you're not a household name doesn't mean you're not an important public figure.

When we got to the parade route, the parade hadn't started yet. I was glad, because that would give Caleb a little time to adjust, and give me time to put on his sunscreen. I stopped the stroller and texted you, letting you know we were watching from outside the bank. After I put on his sunscreen, Caleb looked up at me before lifting his arms and saying "up, up!" I unbuckled him and let him toddle around for a bit. Mostly he took a few steps and then stared at someone nearby, taking in their outfit and watching as they talked to the person next to them. Then he'd move a few paces again and stare at something new. Sometimes I wish I could hear his thoughts, because I'm sure they are the most fascinating thoughts in the world.

Caleb had walked a few paces from me when we both heard the motorcycles rumbling in the distance. He turned to me, suddenly afraid, but his feet were frozen to the sidewalk. I walked towards him, not too fast because I didn't want to scare him, and picked him up. He grabbed at my shirt, which he only does when he's scared.

"It's okay, Caleb," I hushed, rubbing his back. "The motorcycles are loud, but they won't hurt you. After the motorcycles we'll see Mama riding in a shiny car."

Caleb grew more frantic in my arms as the motorcycles approached, but when I pointed out that the people on the motorcycles had rainbow flags just like him, he calmed down a little bit and even waved his flag back and forth a few times.

Here's the funny thing about Pride: I always thought it was strange to have a celebration of something normal. To me, who I love is just part of my everyday life and I celebrate it every time I kiss you or check the "married" box on a form or tuck our son in at night. I don't feel different than other people. Lots of people are married and have kids. From day to day, our life is pretty average and often boring. But I realize we're different when I'm in a crowd of people like us celebrating who we are. It's interesting how our sameness can make us feel different.

After the motorcycles passed, Caleb grew more spirited. He waved his flag a little more and kept pointing at things he liked and looking at me with a smile. I was glad to see he wasn't overstimulated by all the sounds and sights and smells. At least not yet. When a marching band walked past, Caleb started clapping. He wasn't quite in time with the beat, but it was cute. He was happy. Some bicyclists and a sponsor float rolled past us, playing music and tossing candy. Then the Columbus Police Department passed us. I didn't have to look to know Tim wasn't marching with them. Nevertheless, I decided to distract Caleb - well, mostly myself - by offering him a snack. I didn't want to put faces to anyone associated with Tim. Caleb ate a few crackers but then lost interest when he heard the clapping and cheering crescendo around us. I looked down the parade route and saw a row of convertibles rolling towards us.

"I think Mama's almost here, buddy!" I grinned and held him up higher so he could see.

Sure enough, I saw a banner that read "Celebrity Grand Marshall Congresswoman Marcía Hernandez" approaching. I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and shifted Caleb in my arms so I could fish it out. You were calling.

"We're right in front of the bank and Caleb is waving his flag," I smiled into the phone.

Then I saw the car you were in - navy blue and very shiny - and saw you perched on the back, knees pinned together and to the side, waving to the crowd, taking turns with each arm and smiling your shiniest smile. Your hair was catching the light and I'm sure it felt hot against your neck. You looked so stunning in your red shirt and black dress pants, I wanted to take you home right then and throw you on our bed. I'd take a few pictures before undressing you, though, because I wanted to remember how beautiful and happy you looked forever.

I could see you craning your neck, looking for us us. "Look, Caleb, Mama's in the shiny car! Wave your flag!"

He looked for a moment, his face serious, before his concentration split in a toothy grin. A second later you spotted us and swiveled your legs out of the car, trotting over to where we were watching. You leaned over the railing and hugged us and gave me a lipstick-wet smooch on the lips before planting a kiss on Caleb, which left a soft red blotch on his cheek.

Several people around us cooed and clapped and my heart swelled. I think I know why they call it Pride now.

"He's doing okay?" you asked.

I nodded, hoisting Caleb higher up on my hip. "The motorcycles were a little scary, but he liked the bicyclists and the marching band."

You giggled and took Caleb's hand in yours. "How do you like your first Pride, Caleb?" you asked.

Caleb just grinned and jerked his flag up and down a few times, which made you laugh.

"Come march with us!" you suggested. "Just for a few blocks."

I wasn't sure how Caleb would respond to being the center of attention, but you were so giddy and excited and proud, I couldn't say no. I would never dampen your fire when it dances so brightly.

As you heaved Caleb over the railing into your arms, I was glad I'd brought the "travel" stroller. I collapsed it and managed to squeeze between two pieces of railing to join you as you walked alongside Marcía's contingent of two convertibles and a banner. You took the stroller out of my hand and the enormous purse/diaper bag off my shoulder placed them in the backseat of one of the cars. I felt a little self-conscious that I wasn't wearing politician clothes or a blue "Thank You Congresswoman Hernandez" shirt and passing out stickers like the other people in the contingent. But as soon as you took my hand and raised it between us, the crowd cheered and I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I am so proud to be your wife.

To my surprise, Caleb didn't get overwhelmed or fussy as we walked down the parade route. He was content to stay in your arms and watch the people watching him. Your arms grew tired eventually and we got the stroller out of the car and he rode in front of us. You'd bump your hip against mine from time to time and give me that grin where you look from my eyes to my lips to my eyes again. All three of us were having such a great time. Sometimes Caleb would laugh and sometimes he would be utterly disinterested in the crowd. At one point he lifted up his shirt to just check on his belly button, making sure it was still there. It was. I'm glad he takes comfort in small, predictable things.

The whole experience of marching was surreal. As the parade rolled on and the cheers and clapping didn't die down, it felt less and less like something that would actually happen in my life. At one point I turned to you and said, "Everyone is clapping for _you_, Santana." I wanted to make sure you knew it was real and why people were so happy.

"And for you," you said, soft enough that only myself and Caleb could hear. "I wouldn't be here if I hadn't had someone I wanted to marry."

And the giant proud feeling in my chest pushed up into my throat and I had to blink so I wouldn't cry in the middle of the street.

At last the parade came to an end. My feet were sore and my stomach was growling. The crackers I'd brought for Caleb weren't enough to satisfy all three of us, and I was relieved the parade ended near the food tents. It was busy - brightly colored tents with giant menus lined an entire street that was swarming with hungry parade-watchers, fighting through the clouds of barbecue smoke to get places in line.

"Want me to get some teriyaki bowls for us?" you offered when you saw my hesitation to take Caleb into the throngs of people.

"That'd be great," I said, exhaling in relief.

You patted me on the shoulder. "Let's meet up in the Family Pride area," you said, pointing away from the food aisle towards a more subdued block that contained part of the city park. I nodded and kissed you on the cheek before wheeling Caleb towards the tent with the _Family Pride Area_ banner on it.

Amidst dozens of other couples with kids, I changed Caleb's diaper and then waited so he could have a turn on the swings. It was nice to see that there were same-sex couples _and_ opposite-sex couples in the area designated for Family Pride. I even saw an opposite-sex couple sitting on the grass eating sandwiches with their teenage son and what must have been his boyfriend and younger siblings. That's what family pride should be; being proud of _all_ families.

Right after Caleb got his turn on the swings, you arrived with two heaping bowls of rice and chicken teriyaki. The smell of the food aisle had made me so hungry, and the smell of the teriyaki made my mouth water as we found a spot on the grass and settled down to eat. Caleb sat between us and we took turns feeding him bites of rice soaked in sauce, which he loved, and little pieces of chicken, which he took forever to chew, but enjoyed nonetheless.

There was another couple sitting near us that had a little Asian boy who looked about a year older than Caleb. He had two moms and was very focused on dipping his pita bread into a container of hummus they were all sharing. I noticed one of his moms was pregnant, probably about seven or eight months. The other mom, who had dark skin and short, curly hair, caught my eye and smiled.

"Is he your first?" she asked, nodding towards Caleb.

I grinned and nodded back. "He's our only. For _now_."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw you pinch your mouth together. We hadn't talked about the second baby since after Elinor's wedding the weekend before. I'm sure we meant to talk about it, but we got so busy with work and everything, we hadn't had a solid block of time to ourselves.

The lady with the curly hair smiled. "Nineteen months?" she asked.

"Almost to the day!" I said in amazement.

"He's cute," she smiled. "I'm Carla and this is Charlene," she said, nodding to her wife. "And this is Camden."

"Three Cs," I smiled. "You'll have to pick another C name for the new one," I added, nodding towards Charlene's pregnant belly. "I'm Brittany and this is Santana and Caleb," I said, pointing.

"Nice to meet you," Carla said, setting down her sandwich and leaning on her elbow so she could reach across the grass to shake my hand. I shook it and you leaned out to shake her hand too.

"So did you two adopt or use a donor?" Carla asked.

"We used a donor," I said. I never specify that I carried Caleb unless someone asks.

"Well, your boy is gorgeous," Carla said, shaking her head back and forth. "We adopted Camden and used an anonymous donor for baby number two," she said, grinning at Charlene.

"Do you mind me asking what donor service you used?" you piped up as you spooned up another bite for Caleb, who was waiting in anxious anticipation with his mouth open. I was surprised you were so direct with your question, but I had been curious myself, so I was glad you asked.

"CryoBiology," Charlene answered. "We looked at another bank in Pittsburg, but we liked CryoBio better."

"Was it a good experience?" you asked.

Both Charlene and Carla nodded emphatically.

"They were so professional and welcoming," Carla said. "They have a booth right over there if you're interested."

"Cool," you said, nodding down at your bowl of chicken. You were acting casual, but I could see the wheels in your head were turning.

After we ate, Caleb started to get a little fussy, rubbing his face against your arm and swatting away bites to tell us he was full. When he's not fussy he uses his words. I checked his diaper, but he was still clean and dry. I was surprised he had lasted so long before getting fussy, to be honest. I was getting overwhelmed with all the people and smells and sounds myself.

After saying a polite goodbye to Carla and Charlene and Camden, we walked toward the car. On our way to the car, I saw you eye the Cryobiology booth. I nudged you and you gave me a sheepish smile before taking a brochure and tucking it in your purse.

We got home ten minutes after you did - buckling Caleb in and collapsing the stroller, etc, always takes longer than I think it will - and you were already in your sweats, brushing your hair. I had concentrated on keeping Caleb awake in the car in hopes that he would take a long afternoon nap and I could sleep too. I had been victorious and was all too happy to tuck him into his big-boy bed after one short reading of _Where Is Baby's Bellybutton? _That book sure is a page-turner.

Back in the bedroom you were already half asleep. When I slid in bed beside you, you mumbled, "I juss wanna take a nap b'fore the party t'night."

I nodded and made a kissing noise, already half asleep myself. It's amazing how tired I was after only half a day of walking and taking in everything around me.

The three of us had a long, satisfying nap, although I was still a bit groggy when I felt Caleb crawling into bed between us. I felt Wabbit being tucked against my collarbone and grinned, pulling Caleb into me, keeping him snug and warm.

Soon enough he grew restless and you told me Hayley would be here in an hour to watch Caleb while we went to the fancy cocktail reception Marcía invited us to. To be honest, I was kind of dreading it. I don't know much about politics or law and no one knows who I am unless you introduce me as your wife. I love being married to you, but parties like that are a reminder that aside from being your wife and Caleb's Mom-ny, I don't really know who I am. At least I'm happy being those things. I have time to figure out that rest. Someday at a party I'll have a fascinating introduction.

But tonight was different than it had been in the past. Tonight I felt like people actually wanted to talk to me and know me aside from who I am with you. Everyone seemed spirited and light and happy. I sat with some people who had done canvassing for the bill but weren't politicians or lawyers or "hah suh-sAH-tee people" as my mom always says, and they kept me laughing all night. I actually had a great time. When the party was winding down, you came and put your arm around me and beamed as if _you_ were the wife of the famous person, not me. I smiled back and instantly wanted to take you home.

When we got in the car I sighed. "That was fun," I declared. "I don't think I'll complain so much about your lawyer parties anymore."

You took my hand and squeezed and drove us home.

When we got inside, you paid Hayley and gave her a quick hug. As soon as she had left, assuring us Caleb had been an "angel like usual" and had been sound asleep for a few hours, you kicked your shoes off, dropped your purse by the coffee table, and flopped down on the couch. I slid down next to you and you sat up so you could put your head in my lap.

You looked up at me, smiling. You were happy and wanted to be close to me and despite our long, exhausting day, you weren't tired at all. There was a moment of silence as I smiled down at you, wondering what was on your mind.

But then I saw the pamphlet from the cryobank in your purse just a few feet away and knew.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

"Yeah," you said, giving me a shy smile.

"You can bring it up whenever you want, you know," I said.

You shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you'd changed your mind," you admitted. "You didn't sound like you wanted another baby the other night."

My forehead creased. I hadn't meant to come across as hesitant to have another baby. I really do. I just don't want to carry it, and I don't want you to do it just because I don't want to. But now I knew that wasn't why. "I absolutely want another baby," I said, making my voice solid so you knew I was telling the truth. "It's what we both always said we wanted and I'm looking forward to it."

You grinned. "Good."

I remembered the way your face had flickered with hope and fear and sadness when we talked about it. And I remembered how my heart had quivered when I realized what you were offering. "The way you said it that night…" I added, "I think my heart almost broke in half when you said you wanted to carry our baby." I grinned, leaning sideways as much as I could, puckering my lips.

You smiled and lifted yourself up off my lap, meeting my lips before laying back down.

"Are you really sure about this?" I asked. I had been so surprised when you offered, I hadn't asked all the questions I had for you.

As I waited for you to reply, my eyes scanned up and down your body. I didn't mean to imply anything by it. Well maybe I did. Actually I'm sure I did. The simple fact is that pregnancy changes your body. I will love you and your body no matter how your body changes. But it had been harder to learn to love my own after I gave birth to Caleb. Even though I exercise just as much as I used to, my body will never go back to what it was. We both knew you could have the same experience. I don't want you to go through that, because I know no matter how much someone else can be reassuring, what we think of our own bodies has the biggest effect on our confidence.

"I'm sure," you said. You looked me in the eye. "I want Caleb to have a little brother or sister and I want us to have our second perfect baby."

You didn't say anything about your body changing, but I figured you didn't want to think about it. We can deal with it if it happens.

Reassured by your confidence, I ran my hand over your stomach, feeling the flat plane under your black cocktail dress. "You're going to make a very beautiful, sexy pregnant lady," I purred.

"I sure hope so," you said, raising your eyebrows.

"So," I said, patting your legs and taking a businesslike tone. "Who's gonna get you knocked up?"

"You," you said, your grin spreading.

"Obviously," I said, rolling my eyes over a smile.

You grinned and shifted on the couch, snuggling your neck against my thigh. "I want to use the Cryobank, I think. I don't really like the idea of manjuice from someone I know, like, all up in there..."

I nodded. I'd expected as much. I don't have any obvious relatives we could use to try for an almost-bio-baby like Caleb, so it made sense.

I know having an almost-bio-baby was really important to us when we were planning Caleb, but now that we've met him, I think we feel differently. Even if his DNA came from a martian, I would love him to the moon and back a billion times, and so would you. If we are lucky enough to be blessed with another child, I'll feel the same way. However you feel most comfortable getting pregnant is fine with me.

"So what's this Cryobank all about," I mused, leaning forward, trying not to squish you as I reached for the brochure you'd tried to act nonchalant about picking up.

"I just flipped through the brochure once," you shrugged, trying to act casual, "but it seems pretty legit. We get to choose all the physical and personality traits we want in a donor, and we have access to medical info and information about their education level and sometimes even their baby photos. They're all screened extensively and you can sign up to have someone match the donor photo with one of your partner. So we could find a male version of you, maybe, and select him as the donor."

"Do we get to see the pictures?" I asked.

You shook your head. "That'd be weird," you said. "I'm having a baby with _you_, not some strange guy who jerked off in a cup."

"Santana!" I giggled, a bit surprised at your crass description, but still amused.

"What?" you mirrored my laughter. "It's true."

I sighed and gave you a smile to let you know I wasn't too surprised by your comment. But I knew there was a lot of thinking going on in your head that I didn't have access to. "So do you want to go check it out? Have a consultation or something?"

You nodded, your smile fading a bit so that I would know you were serious.

"When?" I asked.

"I was thinking sometime this week or next..." you said, your eyes darting around the room as you tried to sound casual.

"You want to start trying now?" I asked.

You nodded and your energy settled even more. "Who knows how long it will take. Even if I got pregnant tomorrow, Caleb would be two and half when the baby arrived... and if it takes a while, he could be three or four."

I nodded and smoothed your hair over my thigh. I know that it could take us just as long to make another baby as it took us to make Caleb. We aren't in control of our bodies the way we think we are sometimes. Trying so long for Caleb taught me that the way nothing else could.

But just because we're not in control doesn't mean we can't enjoy our bodies. All night, watching you talking and laughing across the room in your black dress, I'd been thinking about just how sexy you are. All day, actually. Your brilliant smile in the parade and the way your hair shone glossy and hot in the sun captivated me just like it had on the cheer tryout field in high school. The bright crimson of your shirt as we sat on the grass made your skin glow and the pink of your cheeks warm. The way you held your champagne glass at the party - delicately, so we could see the deep red of your nails, but firm enough that the glass wouldn't get knocked out if you'd been bumped - made me think of all the other things I want your hands to do with the same graceful certainty.

I looked at your hands now where they rested on your belly as you looked up at me. I took your left hand between mine and examined your fingers, relaxed and thin and not the least bit weathered from chores or gardening or sun. Your manicure was fresh and made your wedding ring stand out and sparkle more than usual. I know that wedding ring isn't actually a part of me, but it's reassuring to know that as you file and type and drive throughout the day, that symbol of me is with you. Even when you're not thinking about it consciously, I'm with you. Whenever I look at the ring on my own left hand and admire the deep red of the ruby, I feel a little echo of you and I know I'm not alone. You are my jewel, and the red of the ruby is as passionate and genuine as you are.

"You have really pretty hands," I murmured. I wasn't sure if I had ever told you. Your body is so familiar to me, I love when I see it as if for the first time. If there was a way to make that happen every time, I would.

You smiled and your hand stiffened as you flexed your fingers to examine them. "They're looking pretty good right now, if I do say so myself," you grinned.

I smoothed my hands over yours to get it to relax again. "No, they're sexy all the time. Especially when you're deep in thought."

You gave me an amused smile. "You can tell I'm deep in thought by what my hands are doing?"

I shook my head. "You just don't pay attention to them then and you're really beautiful when you're not self-conscious."

You smiled and I thought about all the things I've watched your hands do. Suddenly I remembered this dance your hands used to do when we were young, back when we were just fooling around and had no idea that what we were feeling was love and fear and desperation all rolled into one. Your hands would dance on your sheets as we climbed into bed at one of our countless sleepovers. It wasn't loud enough to make a drumming noise. It was barely enough for me to notice, but I did. Your fingers would be so restless, I knew something inside you was restless too. Your fingers would slide and tap and flex and sometimes your short nails would scrape an inch over the thin cotton. When I saw your fingers dancing I knew they wanted to be somewhere else, and I wanted them there too. Remembering that feeling from those teenage nights made my belly tighten and my breath grow more shallow. Even though you were afraid then, you were beyond sexy to me. And just when I thought you couldn't get any sexier, you would touch me and I would realize I had never been so wrong; you were a million times sexier with your hand inside my pajama bottoms or when you were whimpering into my neck when you let me touch you after. You still make that same whimper right before you come. I heard that noise in my mind and swallowed.

As I saw the fingers of your right hand dance for just a moment on your stomach, I realized you were afraid now, though not in the same way. You were afraid of the journey we were about to begin again together. I wanted to hold that fear in the same way I did fifteen years ago - with all of me.

I lifted your hand to my face and without thinking, slipped two of your fingers into my mouth and sucked. Your eyes flashed wide open and darted up to me. As I drew your fingers deeper into my mouth, feeling your nails scratch just a bit against the roof of my mouth, your eyes fluttered closed and I hummed.

"Someone's feeling frisky," you breathed, opening your eyes as you lifted an eyebrow at me.

I let your fingers go with a soft smack. I nodded and ran my fingers into your hair against your scalp, scraping gently and bunching your hair to show you how pent-up I felt inside.

As soon as I released my grasp, you sat up and swiveled around so your thigh was pressed against mine and your chest was pressed to me. You hovered for one hot second over my lips, which made my stomach tighten further still at the momentary tease.

Then you kissed me, holding nothing back. I felt the heat of the sun from our picnic in your hair as I threaded my hand through again, and the power of your parade smile in your lips. Your mouth was hot and I swear your lips were softer and wetter than they ever had been before. The smoothness of your tongue against mine soothed the little scratch from your nails on the roof of my mouth. I could taste just a faint hint of champagne residue on your tongue and felt tiny, sparkling bubbles in my belly.

After just a few moments you pulled away, panting as you closed your eyes and let your lips spread in a hazy smudged-lipstick smile. I felt as though you were a mirror for the way I felt. All my passion and love for you was mixing with the pride I take in being your wife and spilling out of me in any way it could. Together we were overflowing.

"What did you have in mind?" you whispered, sliding your cheek against mine, nudging my ear with your nose.

I put my mouth against your ear as I trailed my fingers up your thigh. "I want to practice getting you pregnant," I whispered.

"Fuck, B..." You let out a shaky exhale. You grabbed my hand and slid it up your leg under your skirt, but I didn't let you pull it all the way to your center. I held firm just a hand's width from the lace of your panties. You trembled and sucked your lip under your teeth when you realized I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to tease. "You too," you whispered.

I chuckled. "Once was enough." I placed a long, wet kiss under your ear and then licked the kiss off, tasting the salt before placing another kiss a few inches down, right where I know your sweet spot is. I sucked just enough to make your breath catch but not enough to leave a mark.

You exhaled through your arousal. "I wish I could fuck you right here on the couch..." you gasped.

Your voice matched how my lungs felt - hot and thick and desperately trying to circulate air. I licked the soft skin I had just kissed and husked, "So fuck me right here..."

I felt you wince as you squeaked, "B, we can't..."

"Says who?" I teased, my kisses inching down your neck.

"Says..." you swallowed and I felt your throat move against my lips, "Says our adorable son who doesn't want to wake up from a nightmare and come downstairs to find his Mom-ny screaming."

I lifted my head and cocked my eyebrow, looking at your trembling mouth as I murmured, "Oh really..."

You licked your lips and gave me a quick, certain nod.

I scrambled up from the couch and pulled you with me. You adjusted your dress just a bit as you hopped over your purse, heading for the stairs. I held back so you could trot up before me. When we reached the top I swatted you on the ass and you let out a soft shriek.

After locking our bedroom door, we fell onto the bed, me on top with our legs dangling off the end. You pulled my dress up to bunch around my waist as I fitted my hips to yours, sliding my thigh between your legs, bunching your skirt as I pressed against the warmest part of you. You exhaled and pulled me down onto you harder with your hands on my backside. We started kissing again, the same big, overflowing kisses we'd shared on the couch. All day I'd been wanting to be this close to you. Seeing you so happy and confident and proud makes my ribcage feel too small to contain my love for you, and the only way to make that feeling go away is to show you with my body. I needed to feel as close to you as possible, just like when we were teenagers and your hands told me you needed to be close by the way they moved on the sheets. And now I can look into your eyes and let some of the feelings that are overflowing in me pour out through my gaze as well.

Our hands worked quickly to unzip and shimmy out of our dresses. No matter how fine or soft fabric is, it can never compare to the warmth of your dampening skin as we move together. I had seen you pick out nice lingerie as we got ready for the cocktail party, and I could feel the rough lace of your panties scratching my thigh as you rocked up and down against me as we paused from undressing to kiss some more.

You took my bra off with what felt like a flick of your fingers and I lifted up so you could pull it out from between us. You rose up onto your elbows so I could reach around behind you, fingers trailing over the rouched satin of your lingerie before unclasping it. You slid yourself up toward the headboard so we weren't dangling off the end of the bed, and then pulled me down on top of you again. From top to bottom, it felt so good, as though each inch of skin had been matched to a part of you that would both soothe and excite me all at once. Your tongue was warm but the air cooled the trail you left as you nipped and kissed my throat.

When I reached down to slide off my panties before removing yours, your hands started doing an open-close dance against the sheets. You were just as eager as I was. But before I slid my thigh back between your legs, I took a good look at your body. As quickly as I could, I tried to capture the images of the little creases on your hips from your panties, the uneven tousled look of your hair, and the smudge of lipstick on your chin. As I took them in, your hands danced and you whimpered. I knew your hands were anxious to touch me. I wanted to touch you too. Whenever I touch you with my fingers, the ache between my legs grows stronger until I feel almost as if I'm touching myself.

As my legs slid on either side of your thigh, I had to close my eyes and exhale. You shuddered and rocked up into me, and we began our exquisite rhythm.

What makes this kind of sex with you so beautiful is that we don't simply rock back and forth or move against each other in a straight line. We let our bodies slide together, inspired by the wetness and excitement and pleasure we feel. We move in little circles or big circles or quick thrusts, but the movement ebbs and flows as we loosen and tighten or grasp onto each other and the tightness in our centers builds. Some people call it grinding, but that sounds harsh and graceless. What we do is so much more than that. It is the ultimate dance. We take turns leading and following. At some point we usually pull apart just enough to add one of our hands, signalling the dance is almost done.

I thought about your hands, the ones I had been unaware I knew so well, and shuddered at the sense memory, knowing what it would feel like when you finally touched me and drew me higher and higher.

As I was thinking about your hands against me, you pulled your mouth off me with a little grunt and gasped, "Touch me."

I slid myself down your thigh so I could still rock against you as I moved my hand across your stomach. I slid it down into your sticky, hot center that had just been sliding against my thigh, and just like always, touching you made the ache between my own legs sharpen. It's amazing what the contact of just a few fingers can do.

You whimpered and I barely understood when you said _inside_. I angled my wrist so I could slide two fingers inside you. _Yes_.

You shuddered and bucked up into me, urging me to let the rhythm of our hips flow into my hand as well. But I had to take a moment to pause and let my fingers soak into you, to feel every inch inside you I could. Suddenly I wished that I could feel you even more, feel just how wet and warm and soft you are all the way inside, beyond where my fingers can reach. I wished I could be with you the way a man could be with you; giving and receiving at the same time, fitting together as tightly as possible.

It's not that I wanted to be a man. I didn't. I like being a woman very much. But sometimes I ache, knowing there are experiences I can't have with you. I will never be able to fit every inch of me with every inch of you, or be able to leave a part of me inside you and watch as a life springs forth. I wish I could. Thinking about you carrying our next baby made me wish that even more.

But I was determined to work with what we have. I fluttered my fingers in and out of you, sliding my thumb over your most sensitive spot as your moans and gasps got louder. I love watching you climb. I'm certain that if I were a man, I'd try as hard as I could to make sure you always came first, because for me, watching you let go is the most beautiful part of being together. I guess one of the advantages of being girls is it doesn't matter who comes first. But I would love to know what it feels like all the way inside you. No matter how close we get when we make love, I will always want to be closer.

I could tell you were close. My fingers were being squeezed together and even though you were so slick and wet, it was getting harder to slide in and out. I wanted to give you just that extra nudge and feel you clench and arch beneath me, but I needed my other hand to prop me up so my arm didn't get smashed between us. I lowered my head to take your nipple between my lips, and after just a hint of suction, you cried out and I felt you arch your stomach up into mine as my knuckles were squeezed together inside you. You held your breath and arched higher as I tried to keep my fingers moving.

Your arch broke and you gasped as you brought us both back down on the bed. Your breathing was frantic and shaky and your lips started to turn up at the corners as your arms and hands fell from my back onto the sheets. Each breath was so loud and rasping I could almost hear notes in it. You lifted a hand to brush your hair from your forehead as your breathing slowed just a bit through your parted lips.

"Fuck, B," you panted. "Give me a second..."

I lowered my lips to your face and place gentle kisses on the sweat beads on your upper lip and brow. "Take your time," I murmured, pressing a smile against your mouth. "I'll still be good to go..."

Your breathing softened but grew no less shaky as I tried to keep myself from rocking against you. I was still so pent up, so turned on, but I also wanted to watch the ripples in your body fan out and settle.

You bit your lip just a second before opening your eyes and looking up at me with a determined playfulness. I had only a moment to smile back before you flipped me over and started pressing circles into me with your thigh. The new angle made the desire in my belly turn over and double itself.

"You looked so sexy today, B," you crooned in my ear. "From the minute I saw you at the parade I wanted to bring you home and do this."

Your pace started to mount and even though I knew you'd already finished, you had the same determination I'd seen in your face as you were approaching your own climax as you pushed me towards mine. Our hips were sticky and our skin was damp and hot, and through the haze of heat and want it seemed impossible that anything could ever feel better.

You gripped my hair and lowered your head to my chest. After lapping once with your tongue, you took my nipple in your mouth and sucked. It was harder than you'd sucked in a long time and it felt like sparks were coursing through me into your mouth. When you slid your hand down between us and rubbed frantic circles against my most sensitive spot, my whole body tensed. You lifted your mouth just long enough to mumble _come for me, B_. I pushed my center up against your fingers and firm, sticky thigh and felt the first inkling of the free-fall in my belly. As I tipped into that feeling, it picked up and my body seized as I let the bursting spread up through my legs into my gut and chest and arms. You rocked against me and sucked even harder for as long as I could bear it.

When I finally gasped and nudged your shoulder, letting you know I felt too sharp and tender, you popped your mouth up and slowed your hips, grinning down at me through a curtain of your hair. I put my hands on your hips to still them and although you stopped, I still felt as though our bodies were swirling together. You settled down flat against me and placed gentle, almost-silent kisses on the damp skin of my neck. Your breathing was still deep and a little shaky, but you were settling as I tried to settle too.

I felt your nose nudge my ear and then felt the hot words, "I think that definitely got me pregnant."

I chuckled beneath you and wrapped my arms around your back. I turned my head just enough to kiss your temple and mumbled, "Good."

After a few minutes, when breathing didn't take all my energy any more, I opened my eyes and shifted a bit under you. You lifted up and smirked down at me. Then your smirk softened.

"I'm really happy we're doing this," you murmured, brushing my hair away from where it stuck to the side of my face. Your words weren't raspy or shaky anymore, just smooth and quiet.

"Having sex like teenagers?" I smiled. I knew what you were talking about, but I was also pretty glad we were having sex as passionately as we just did.

You let your smile grow impish again for a moment before it returned to sweet. "Well yes, but I meant building our family."

My heart swelled and I ran my hands over your back. "Me too."

"I'm really proud of our family," you murmured. "Not just because today is Pride and everyone got to see how cute Caleb is." Your eyes softened and I knew the images of the parade and our son in the stroller with his Pride flag were flickering through your mind. "But because we worked really hard to build it and today put things in perspective."

I nodded up at you and squeezed your back in agreement.

Your eyes danced over my face, which I'm sure was flushed, for a minute and your gaze rested on my lips. You bent down and placed a gentle kiss on my mouth before whispering, "I'm so proud to be your wife." The words were so delicate, I knew they came from the softest, most genuine part of you.

I pulled you tighter to me, feeling my heart swell against you through our sweat-sticky skin. I saw flashes of images of you from throughout the day - your celebrity smile in the parade, your proud Mama smile as you carried Caleb, your sheepish smile as you picked up a flier from the cryobank, and your cocktail party flirtatious smile. But I think of all your smiles, the one I get when I'm alone with you like this, sticky and tired and feeling closer than ever, is my favorite.

"I'm so proud to be with you too," I murmured. I cupped your cheek and drew you down to my mouth. Our lips moved slow and soft together, as one dances when there is no music playing anywhere but inside the dancer. We kissed until even that music faded.

At last you sighed, a light sigh that felt turned up at the ends like a smile. You slowly lifted your hips up off of me and I felt where our juices had started to dry against us. You walked to the door and unlocked it as I pulled back the covers and slid beneath them. My body was heavy and warm and loose. When you climbed into the bed with me, our dampness now faint as the air in the room cooled, you wrapped your arms around me and gave me a sleepy squeeze.

Even though parades and parties and announcements are certainly wonderful ways to show pride, I think soft and private celebrations are just as powerful. As I lay against you, drifting into sleep, I was certain I had never felt prouder of anything.

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><p><strong>If you enjoyed, please review!<strong>


	11. Prelude

A/N: This chapter references TtLW chapter 64, for those who didn't read it. No need to do so if you don't want to, just thought I'd mention it. Happy reading!

Thanks to terriblemuriel and FrogsRcool for their help, as always.

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><p><strong>Chapter 11: Prelude<strong>

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><p>"Take a deep breath," I said, tossing the alcohol swab in the trash after rubbing it just below your bellybutton.<p>

You took an exaggerated breath that showed me you didn't think you'd be able to calm yourself. "I just really don't like needles," you said through your teeth, looking everywhere but directly at me.

"Don't worry, I do this all the time," I said as I uncapped the syringe.

"Right," you said, biting your lip.

"Here, try the same thing we do with Caleb," I offered, pausing before giving you the injection.

You rolled your eyes but positioned your hand on your bicep, poised to pinch yourself when I said go. It was a trick I learned in nursing school when I did my practicum in pediatrics. Pinches hurt worse than most shots, so if you surprise a child with a pinch on the other arm, they don't realize the shot is over because they're mad at their mom or dad for pinching them. I know you can't surprise yourself with a pinch, and I couldn't do it because I needed both hands to give you the injection, but it was worth a try. It always works with Caleb.

I placed my hand against your stomach, pinching the soft skin up between two fingers. "Go."

You grimaced and I poked the needle just slightly into your skin, evenly pressing down the plunger of the syringe before sliding it out. "All done," I said with a smile, recapping the syringe. "Not so bad, right?"

You exhaled in relief and shook your head. "Only four more," you sighed.

I raised my eyebrows as I stood up. "Sweetie, you better get used to it. I have never had so many needles poked into me as when I was pregnant with Caleb."

Your eyes darted around the room. "I'll work on it," you grumbled.

"Hey," I said, catching your chin with my hand to draw your eyes to me. I lowered my voice. "This is exciting." I smiled and you relaxed enough to smile back. You nodded.

It had taken us a few weeks to get an appointment at CryoBio. You were nervous as we drove there. I knew you were nervous because you asked me if I wanted to drive, which you only do when you don't want to drive so you can try to calm yourself down. You shifted a few times, but aside from that, you just watched the familiar surroundings as we drove, brow slightly furrowed with concern. When we got inside, you had a printed list of questions for the consultant, and you wrote all the answers down so you could remember later. I didn't talk much, just held your hand and smiled.

Of course you'd done a ton of research before the initial meeting, and most of the answers to your questions were "yes" or "that's correct." When the consultant started talking about hormone shots, you shifted a bit in your seat. I know you'd thought about it a lot, and I wasn't surprised when, after a nervous glance in my direction, you told her you wanted to do the hormone shots. She pulled out a few pieces of paper from a file and placed them on the desk, pressing each one down with a flat, graceful hand. We'd seen all the information before; the graphs about success rates as well as the likelihood of multiples. The fact that CryoBio refused to issue the sperm if more than three eggs were detected in the post-hormone ultrasound didn't seem to comfort you. The idea of having two or three infants at once is a little bit terrifying, but I'm sure we could do it. We'll cross that bridge if we get to it.

The consultant told us hormones weren't required, but conception rates were higher and choosing to do the injections could keep the overall cost of getting pregnant down. Each vial of sperm was at least five hundred dollars, and if a donor had a high success rate with previous conceptions or a PhD or desirable genetic traits, it was even more expensive, sometimes as much as nine hundred.

You scoffed at the computer screen when you first saw the cost. "What is it, liquid _gold_?" you asked. But I reminded you that the cryobank has to pay to run all kinds of tests on each donor and then has to make sure the sperm has good motility and viability. And that's _before_ the chemical washing and processing and storing. You tipped your head to the side, acknowledging I was right.

"And you're forgetting the most important part," I said with a grin.

"What?" you asked, leaning forward as you scrolled down the list of donors.

I put my hand on your knee to get your attention. "Our baby is priceless."

A sheepish grin spread across your face and you looked over at me before leaning in for a kiss.

"I love that we can order our priceless baby online," you said, turning back to the computer.

After about half an hour of looking over donor profiles, we found one we liked. Medium height, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, an excellent health record, a high rating by the interviewer at CryoBio, and much to your satisfaction, a PhD in aerospace engineering.

"Does it come with a tiny space suit?" I asked.

You bumped my knee with your wrist and rolled your eyes as you smiled and scrolled down the page.

"Houston... we need a diaper change," I said, trying to keep a straight face.

You laughed and I perched my head on your shoulder and read along with you. We agreed we wanted to know more about the space scientist donor, so we paid ten dollars to see his extended profile. I liked the answers he gave for the essay questions. We read them together; I loved what he said about his own childhood, and he seemed like he lived an active and healthy lifestyle. After looking at a few more donors just to compare and thinking about it for a few days, we decided on the rocket scientist, donor #C1520. We kissed and you hit "purchase." We put in our credit card number and our CryoBio ID number and a few minutes later, we got a confirmation email.

"I wonder if we'll get a confirmation email when you're pregnant," I wondered, winking at you.

"That'd be nice," you said, putting your credit card back in your wallet.

"I don't think God uses email, though," I grinned.

"Probably not," you said, shrugging. "Though you never know with droid babies."

I was confused. What were you talking about?

You sighed. "C'mon, Britt, that was a good one! C1520?" You raised your eyebrows when I still didn't understand. "Like C3P0?"

I tipped my head back with laughter before leaning in to kiss you again, assuring you it _was_ funny.

We decided to wait until after Christmas to start. With our sperm on ice and all our decisions made, we wanted to make it through the holidays and hopefully see some progress on Julie's case before we started the insemination process.

Caleb had much more fun at his second Halloween than his first; we took him back to Lima to trick-or-treat with Zoe. Zoe wore my old cowgirl Halloween costume, while Caleb wore a miniature Elvis costume, complete with cardboard guitar, though he wasn't interested in it when he discovered it didn't make noise. He fussed when you gelled his hair in the front, but he looked pretty damn adorable toddling behind Zoe with his giant rhinestoned collar and pumpkin pail grazing along the ground as he tried to keep up.

For Christmas, Caleb got a little wooden rocking chair from "'Wello 'Tonio" and a play kitchen from my parents, complete with a chef's hat and apron that had his initials embroidered on the front. My dad took off Caleb's Santa hat to put the chef's hat on and Caleb smiled long enough for him to take a picture before taking the chef hat off and attempting to put the Santa hat back on. He's a smart boy. He knows to sit through the photo op for the people who sneak him ice cream when we're not looking.

Christmas came and went and the only thing we heard about Julie's case was that the chief of Tim's department had put Tim on probation - which Tim was _not_ happy about - and had recommended Tim fire his current attorney and hire one of the most intimidating lawyers in town, Jeremy Baldwin. Mr. Baldwin worked for a cutthroat general practice firm and had been hired to do both Tim's criminal trial and his divorce proceedings. You shuddered when you heard, and I thought I heard the phrase _formidable asshole_ slip between your teeth. I could tell you were pent-up about it. You talked to Julie a lot, and I could hear your voice walking the tightrope between being furious that she had to go to court to begin with and wanting to comfort her and assure her you'd fight this case to the end with her, even if you weren't her official legal counsel. And while we were still nervous about her case after Christmas, we decided not to put our family on hold any longer.

After five days of little injections in your tummy, we did the last one, a slightly bigger shot containing a luteinizing hormone that was supposed to trigger your ovulation. The next day we went to the doctor for the first of what we hoped would be many happy ultrasounds. You lay back on the exam table with a paper sheet over your legs as the ultrasound technician slid the internal ultrasound device into you. I remembered all my ultrasounds with Caleb and tried to imagine your belly a little bigger. I found it wasn't hard at all. I couldn't help but smile.

"Well, good news," the ultrasound technician said with a rehearsed smile. "There are two little eggs making their way through your fallopian tubes and you should be ready for insemination this evening."

You jerked your head up at me and gave me a scared smile. I reached for your hand and gave you a calmer smile back. The squeeze I gave you was meant to remind you that just because there are two eggs doesn't mean we'll have twins. And if you do, it will be a happy surprise. Perhaps a bit overwhelming, but happy.

The technician pulled the instrument out and removed the disposable sleeve. "Let me know if you have any questions." Her words and voice didn't match up though, so it was good we didn't have any questions to annoy her with. She shut down the ultrasound machine with a whir and left the room.

Before you could sit up, I leaned down and kissed your mouth. You were caught off guard, I think, because your lips were soft at first but then stiffened before softening again.

"I'm excited," I hummed.

You let out a little breath and said, "Me too," but I could hear your nerves. I kissed down the side of your face to your ear and nestled there for a moment.

"Um," you swallowed. "Britt?"

I hummed a response, still breathing in the smell of your hair.

"I want to do it differently than we did for Caleb."

I was surprised. Conceiving Caleb was one of the most beautiful experiences we've had together. I know exactly what night it was and I can picture it vividly; we'd been doing three inseminations a month clustered around my ovulation for almost a year, but the last time we tried, we only did one, so it _had_ to have happened that night. I was emotionally exhausted from so many failed attempts and didn't have much hope it would work. But you created a heavenly space for making Caleb. It's no wonder he turned out as perfect as he is. The room was clean and warm and filled with soft candlelight. The way you touched me and held me made me forget for a moment what we were really doing; it was beautiful and sensual and entirely about you and me. Just thinking about it makes me smile and feel as though I've swallowed the candlelight and the warmth of your skin against mine. So I was sad you didn't want to have that experience again.

You tilted your head a little and gave me an apologetic smile. "It can still be special," you assured me. "I just don't really think of it as something... sexy."

That made me so sad and a little worried; was my memory of Caleb's conception fabricated? Had you been tuned out while I was in absolute bliss? My worry must have shown on my face because you started talking quickly.

"Oh no, don't worry," you said. "Making Caleb was definitely sexy."

I relaxed a little.

"I just don't think mixing sex and sperm is my thing," you explained. "But I do want to cuddle with you and kiss a little bit while we wait."

I bit my lip and nodded. I think a lot of things are sexy. Sometimes I see a flower and think of just how soft its petals would feel on my lips, or what they would smell like crushed against your skin. Sometimes I hear a song that most people wouldn't think is sexy, but the melody seems to waft above others in a way I think is sexy. But different people find different things sexy, and I could understand where you were coming from. Just because I had a positive experience combining sex and insemination doesn't mean you'd have the same. And since you were the one being inseminated, it was only fair to let you set whatever mood made you most comfortable. I nodded and gave you a peck on the lips before tucking my hair behind my ears and helping you up off the table.

We called the cryobank and told them we were coming to pick up our order. When we got there, they handed us an enormous thermos. It looked like one of those giant coffee dispensers in the breakroom at your office or an oxygen tank or something. You had to sign a bunch of forms, but I only had to sign one; a single sheet of paper stating my commitment to raising the baby. You looked over at my paper and raised your eyebrows. I realized you were looking at it with your lawyer eyes, and it looked pretty lame: there was nothing specific about money or education or food or shelter for the baby. But as you watched me sign it, I hoped you knew I was committing to so much more than providing those things. From the moment you conceive to the day I die, I will love and cherish and protect the baby - or babies - as fiercely as I can. No piece of paper could ever capture how seriously I take that commitment.

We picked up our enormous "space thermos of jizz," as you called it, and took it out to the car. I buckled it into Caleb's car seat and you laughed. I kept a straight face and said, "child safety is a very serious thing, Santana."

"Your face is a very serious thing," you quipped back.

When we buckled ourselves in after you started the car - you were surprisingly calm enough to drive - you leaned over the console for a peck on the lips.

"Happy insemination day, baby," I murmured.

That night we had a quiet dinner with Caleb. We decided to do the insemination as soon as he went down for the night, which is usually around seven or seven thirty. We got lucky that he's such a good little sleeper. After dinner we opened the giant canister and took out the tiny vial of sperm - seriously, it was miniscule - and set it out to process while I did the dishes and you gave him a bath and put him to sleep. I sat on the couch and got out the instructions for the insemination and read through them.

You padded into the living room ten minutes later. I love the soft confidence of your bare feet on our floor. They sound so much warmer than your heels when you get home at the end of the day.

"Out like a light," you said with a grin. "I only had to read _One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish_ once." You let out a contented sigh. "I wish he had picked a more interesting favorite book."

"What, like _Where Is Baby's Bellybutton?_" I teased as you flopped down on the couch, draping your legs across my lap.

"I don't think they make many riveting toddler bedtime stories," you grumbled.

I really love reading to Caleb and I don't mind his books at all. I tried to scan his tiny library in my mind for something that you would like. But I don't think you actually believe reading to Caleb is boring; every Saturday morning you take Caleb to Lapsit Storytime at the library and bring home five new books - one for each finger on his left hand.

I smiled. "I like _Harold and the Purple Crayon_. "

"That's a good one," you agreed. "But I think Caleb would prefer if Harold's crayon was red."

I nodded. Caleb really loves red. Wabbit has a red ribbon around his neck and when Caleb is really nervous, he puts the ribbon in his mouth and sucks on it. It also helps him fall asleep now that we've taken the pacifiers away.

"What was your favorite book as a baby?" you asked me.

I couldn't remember so I shrugged and made a note in my head to ask my mom. "What was yours?"

"_La Pequena Locomotora Que Si Pudo_," you grinned.

"Oh, right," I smiled.

I thought about the book you had read hundreds of times to Caleb and imagined you sitting on Antonio's lap, hair up in a messy toddler ponytail as he recited, _Pienso que puedo, pienso que puedo, pienso que puedo_.

You started drumming your fingers on your stomach and I knew you were anxious to get the insemination over with.

"Shall we get this party started?" I asked, gently patting your stomach.

You nodded and sat up.

"Don't forget to go to the bathroom," I said. Once when we were trying to make Caleb I forgot to pee before you inseminated me and I had to lay there for half an hour trying to distract myself from the fact that I had to pee really bad. That wasn't so fun. I'm not surprised that one didn't take because I was just thinking about peeing for half an hour.

After you went to the bathroom, we went into the bedroom. I brought the insemination kit and set it up as you lay down, slipping your pants and underwear off and sliding a pillow under your hips. When we were settled and ready, I looked at you. I really wanted to make love to you, but you didn't want to have sex. And I knew we didn't have time unless we wanted the inseminate fluid to lose its potency from sitting out in the air.

Before picking up any of the instruments on the bedside table, I sat crosslegged on the bed next to you and took your hand in mine. If we couldn't have physical sex, I wanted to have some kind of connection. That's what family is about: connection.

A few years ago I made up this thing called Feelings Sex. After I got really sick and left for a few months, it was hard for us to have sex right away because we didn't trust each other. You didn't trust that I wouldn't leave again, and I didn't trust that you would notice if I got sick again. So before we were ready to have physical sex, we had Feelings Sex, where I told you a bunch of reasons I love and you just listened. It's hard to do, both giving and receiving, but it's also one of my favorite things to do with you. When our bodies are too tired to have sex, we can always stay awake for a minute or two of Feelings Sex.

I gave you a cheeky smile and took your hand in mine. "Lightning round," I said, squeezing.

You frowned a little and shook your head. "Britt, I don't want to make this sexy..."

"I love you, Santana Lopez-Pierce, _because_..." I started, my grin spreading.

You gave me a bashful smile and your eyes fluttered closed for a moment. I waited until you opened them and looked at me. That's the most important part of Feelings Sex.

"I love you, Santana Lopez-Pierce, because you are braver than you will ever give yourself credit for."

As I smoothed your hand in mine, I felt like my eyes were locked on yours. Your face was spread in such a bright smile and your eyes were shining and there was no way I could look away.

"I love you, Santana Lopez-Pierce, because you are the best mom I've ever met. Even when you've had a hard day at the office, you come home and you're sweet and playful with our son. You're patient and gentle and he adores being around you. His face always lights up the same way I do inside when I see you."

Your smile softened and your free hand rested on your stomach. The gentleness of your smile reminded me of all the times I have needed you to wrap me up and hold me together. I have never needed that more than when I was sick. Even though things are wonderful right now, they haven't always been. The fact that you stick by my side when I can hardly stand to be around myself shows me you love me more than any words or actions could.

"I love you, Santana Lopez-Pierce, because not only are you patient and gentle with our boy, you are equally as patient and gentle with me. I know me getting sick again was really scary and hard for you, but you were my rock and my soft place at the same time. I couldn't have gotten better without you. I know I've thanked you before, but I don't think I'll ever stop. So thank you."

Your face grew serious and you bit your bottom lip and gave me a little nod. You knew you weren't supposed to speak, but you were telling me you'd do it over again whenever I needed. My heart swelled.

"And I love you, Santana Lopez-Pierce, because of what you're doing right now." I paused for a second and let my voice grow even softer, to show you the reverence I have for you. "Offering to carry our second baby is the most generous thing you've done for our family. I know you're scared," I said, scanning your face and finding the admission right there. "But I promise to be right here with you. Through the whole thing. I felt so close to you during my pregnancy, and I feel so close to you now at the start of yours."

"We hope," you murmured, breaking the rules with a soft smile.

"We hope," I echoed.

I sat there looking down at you, smiling for a few moments, taking in the radiance of your face, which was calmer than when you had first lay down. Your mood was almost hazy, completely unself-conscious as you looked up at me. I have seen that look so many times in my life and I never want it to fade.

"I love you, Santana Lopez-Pierce," I whispered, "because you are the best partner I could have hoped for. Marrying you is the best thing I've ever done." I felt a lump in my throat. Sometimes when I say something that feels so overwhelmingly true, I start to cry. Truth is powerful.

The hand on your stomach lifted up and reached for my face, bringing me down to you lips. You weren't crying, but that's not always part of Feelings Sex. Sometimes it is. But you don't have to cry for me to know you are filled.

Your lips were gentle against mine; soft as they drew my bottom lip out for just a moment before I felt your mouth curve in a smile.

"I'm ready," you whispered.

I kissed you once more for luck and sat up.

We were using the same kit we got when we were trying to get me pregnant. We had done an at-home IUI a dozen times before, only I had been on the receiving end. I was proud that you had taken on the task of doing an at-home IUI so readily. I think a lot of people would be afraid to try, but you weren't. You were unsure you could do it at first, but not afraid.

I tried to be as calm as you had been the night we conceived Caleb while I prepped the syringe, inserted the speculum, and shone a flashlight inside you. I could hear you practicing your deep breathing and I wished more than anything I could hold your hand while I did this. But I needed one hand to hold the flashlight, one hand to hold the syringe, and one hand to steady you so I didn't hurt you as I slid the tip of the syringe through your cervix. I didn't have three hands though, so I put the flashlight in my mouth and angled my head down to get the best view I could.

After I got the tip of the syringe in your cervix, I didn't need the flashlight, so I dropped it on the sheets and it rolled against the pillow under your hips. I moved my hand off your leg and took your hand in mine. I know the speculum inside you was uncomfortable, so I didn't want to make you wait too long, but I needed just a few seconds to send good baby wishes though my arm into you.

I pictured your belly growing slowly bigger and rounded and your skin glowing even warmer than it does now. I pictured curling around you in bed at night and whispering in your ear all the things that had comforted me when I was scared about the birth or parenting or a million other things. I wanted to do everything you did for me, or at least try. It was a tall order, though.

When I had sent a surge of wishes into you, I positioned my thumb on the end of the syringe. "Ready?" I asked.

You nodded, a quick, nervous nod, and looked up at me with a smile that said you were taking another leap of faith.

I mouthed the words _I love you_ and smiled as I slowly pushed the contents of the syringe inside you. You mouthed _I love you too_ back and after just a moment longer, I felt the end of the syringe stop, signalling it was empty. I withdrew it and closed the speculum, pulling it out and wrapping it in a towel on the nightstand. I slid up the sheets to curl around you, resting my hand on your belly and my head on your shoulder.

You laced your fingers through mine and we lay quietly for a moment. After I settled into you, I closed my eyes and spoke in my thoughts. _We're ready for you, baby. We hope you're ready for us too_.

After a few more peaceful minutes together, we heard Caleb cough and sputter in his room.

_Mamamamamaaa!_

My chest ached at the sound. He was having a nightmare. I knew because he only goes back to calling for _Mamamamaaa_ when he's really upset and scared.

"Oh no... poor guy..." you cooed, looking towards the door. We knew Caleb would be appearing any minute, but you weren't supposed to move for a little while. "Baby, will you get me some shorts?" you asked, patting my thigh.

I looked around the room, spotting your pants and underwear crumpled on the floor. I got up and rummaged through a drawer, tossing you a clean pair of underwear and some soft cotton shorts. Usually we don't care if Caleb sees us naked - we take baths with him and it's not weird-, but I could understand why you wanted pants on right now.

I went to the door and sure enough, Caleb was in the hallway, wiping his face with the backs of his hands and wailing as he tried to make his way to our room with only the dim light of his Mr. Moon nightlight. He looked so distressed and pitiful in his footie pajamas and hair sticking up in five different directions. His diaper rustled as he took a few hurried steps towards me and lifted his arms. "_Mamamaaaa!_" he wailed, his voice hoarse and raspy with terror. "_Mamamaaaa!_"

I picked him up and held him close to my chest, willing the bad dream out the window as he rubbed his face against my shirt. "I'm here, sweetie. It was just a bad dream, you're safe now." Holding him closer to me made the ache in my chest dull a bit.

"_Mamaaaa_..." he whimpered, hiccuping and shuddering as his cries started to die down.

"Yeah, let's go see Mama," I cooed, walking back into our bedroom where you had just finished slipping on your shorts.

You stayed lying with your hips up but lifted your head and arms to us when you saw how blotchy Caleb's face was.

"Caleb, _buddy_," you said in your concerned Mama voice. "What _happened_?"

Caleb leaned towards you as I walked toward your side of the bed and I handed him to you before walking around to my side. He let out a few more whimpers, sucking air in and shaking a little bit. He didn't say anything, but he curled into you, flipping his head from side to side a few times as he got comfortable and tried to settle down.

I lay down next to you on my side and started rubbing Caleb's back in big, slow circles. I could feel his pajamas were sticking to his skin a little bit because he was so sweaty, and wondered if maybe he was sick. I held the back of my hand to his forehead to check for a fever, but my hand soaked up the heat quickly and I knew he was okay, just scared.

I wanted to explain to him that whatever had scared him in his dream wasn't real, but he's still too little to understand that. When someone is afraid, anything can be real. Especially when that person is only two.

You smoothed Caleb's hair away from his blotchy face as I kept rubbing circles on his back and hushing him. When his whimpers and shudders had mostly died down, he opened his mouth and said one soggy word: _book_.

"You want us to read to you, Caleb?" you asked.

Caleb nodded and stuck two fingers in his mouth.

I patted his back and got up, going into his room and squinting in the dark at his books. I was about to grab _Harold and the Purple Crayon_ when I remembered that there was a hedgehog and a moose in that book that looked a little scary, so I chose _Goodnight, Moon_ instead. There's nothing scary in _Goodnight, Moon_. As I went back into the hall I saw Wabbit's butt sticking up from beneath Caleb's blankets. I picked Wabbit up and brought him back into our room.

I settled back on our bed and handed Wabbit to Caleb, who slid off your chest into the snuggle-spot between you and me. He hugged Wabbit to his chest and adjusted his hips a bit, settling in for the story. I made my neck comfortable on the pillow and opened the book, holding it up high so all three of us could see. I opened my mouth to start reciting the words I knew by heart, but as I did, you started speaking in a low, warm voice.

_En la gran habitación verde, hay un teléfono, un globo rojo, y un cuadro de una vaquita que salta sobre la luna._..

I smiled at you and listened as the words washed over me and Caleb, lulling us both into a sleepy haze. The familiar story sounded so much prettier in Spanish. I followed along with the English words at first, trying to remember the Spanish words as you translated, but after a while I just wanted to listen to the music of your voice and feel Caleb settle down between us.

By the time the book was done, I heard Caleb's breathing was soft and slow and deep between us. I tilted my head to look at him and saw he was fast asleep, one hand on his chest and the other clutching Wabbit by his side. He looked so peaceful, I didn't want to move him. Generally we don't let him sleep in our bed at night, but he looked too sweet to think of waking to move back into his room where the bad dream had found him.

You gave me a pout that said _poor Caleb_. "Let's leave him," you whispered. I nodded and got up to brush my teeth and put on my pajamas. I came back and curled around Caleb again, smiling at you across the pillow. You smiled back. We must have laid there together for half an hour before we turned out the light.

Maybe our first attempt at making another baby was completely different than our approach to the first. Maybe some people would think it was unromantic or clinical or strange that our son was with us when a child was possibly being conceived. But as I lay in our warm, soft bed and gazed at you smiling back at me as Caleb slept peacefully between us, I thought it was absolutely perfect. I was so glad you had told me you wanted to do it a different way. It was definitely a paradise moment.

* * *

><p>The next day we got up and went about our life as usual. I kissed you a little longer than usual as you dashed out the door, but other than that, nothing seemed different until Hayley arrived. She looked sheepish and avoided looking me in the eye. When I asked her what was wrong, she got flustered and told me that she had a job offer and just didn't know how to tell me.<p>

On the one hand, I was happy for her. She's been Caleb's nanny for about a year and I know she'd rather have a "real" job, even if she loves her nephew like crazy. But I was also sad that we'd have to come up with another childcare solution, since this one was working so well. I contemplated leaving my job again, but I knew that meant I might get sick again. And as soon as I thought of having to say goodbye to Mrs. Johnson and her not understanding what it meant, I pushed the idea aside. I didn't really want to quit my job. I just wanted things to stay the same.

I assured Hayley it was fine and that Caleb probably needed to go to daycare and be with other kids anyway. He's almost two now, and aside from Danielle's kids and Zoe and a few other toddlers from Lapsit Storytime, he doesn't spend a lot of time with other kids.

But even though I assured Hayley we'd figure something out and not to worry, I _was_ worried; Caleb is so shy and nervous, going to school is going to be hard for him. But I can't protect him from everything that will be difficult in his life. I wouldn't be a good mom if I didn't give him a chance to fall and pick himself back up again. That's how we learn how strong we are. But that doesn't mean watching him fall down is easy.

I asked how long until Hayley started her new job and she winced and said two weeks. That didn't give us much time at all; Danielle had advised us to get on a waiting list for preschool the day he was born, but we had laughed and shrugged it off. The idea of our infant son starting school seemed lightyears away at the time. Now I was starting to regret not taking Danielle's advice.

That afternoon at work while Arlene watched our favorite episode of Jeopardy, I searched on my phone for daycare centers nearby. A bunch of places popped up, and I went into the other room a few times to make calls and ask if there were any openings. A few places said they had room in the fall, but when I said I needed a place by the end of January, they either apologized or tried not to laugh. I was uneasy about him going to school in general, and I was starting to get really nervous when nowhere had any openings. I debated calling you so you could help me figure it out, but I didn't want to worry you while you were at work. I could tell you that night at home.

Much to my relief, you seemed pretty cool about it when I told you. Even after I told you that the first five places I'd called didn't have any openings, you stayed calm. "There's a childcare center right next to my office," you said. "I'll ask if they have openings first thing tomorrow."

I felt a little better and hoped we'd find a place for our boy quickly. But I still ached a little bit at the idea of leaving Caleb with anyone but my sister or my mom.

You texted me at nine fifteen the next morning saying that Kindercare Columbus had a spot for Caleb starting in two weeks and you'd bring home the details and paperwork. I still felt unsettled about it, but I went about cleaning and cooking and playing with Caleb like usual. We went outside and built a Caleb-sized snowman in the freezing January air and then came in and had cocoa with tiny "mallows." When Caleb took his nap - he was down to one a day now - I threw in a load of laundry and opened my laptop to look up Kindercare Columbus.

The website was sleek and professional. There was a slideshow of pictures of kids smiling and playing with brightly colored blocks and puppets and dress-up clothes. There were several glowing reviews and a list of certifications and awards the center had won. I browsed the website and saw there was a place parents could log on and watch the classroom live. I wasn't sure how I felt about that - of course I want to know what Caleb is doing throughout the day, but it seemed like I would be spying or something. I went back and looked at the pictures of the happy kids in the classroom and tried to picture Caleb there, hoping he would be just as happy as the poster children.

We went to go talk to the teachers two days later and brought Caleb with us. He looked around the classroom, which was a bit louder than I'd imagined from the website, with an unsure look on his face. He didn't show any desire to be put down and go play, and when you set him down to see what he'd do, he clung to your pant leg with both fists and stayed rooted where he was.

"That's totally normal," the teacher assured us. "Most kids his age take a while to warm up. He's twenty-two months?" she asked, double-checking.

We nodded.

"Totally normal," she repeated with a saccharine smile. "If you decide to enroll, you'd be welcome to come stay with him for the first day or so to help him see this is a happy, safe place to play and learn."

The woman continued giving us her marketing spiel, detailing the emphasis on early academics and kindergarten readiness. That didn't sit well with me at all; Caleb is nowhere near ready for kindergarten and I wouldn't want to stress him out by drilling letters and numbers and shapes into his head when he'd rather play in his little kitchen or fingerpaint. He doesn't even like the ABC song. Whenever I sing it he acts bored.

When we left, my stomach was tight and I held Caleb to me with perhaps more urgency than I needed to. The center was bright and clean and professional, but I wasn't sure Caleb would like it at all. He looked so scared when we were inside. But then I realized that maybe _I_ was the one who was scared and Caleb, being the sensitive guy that he is, was picking up on it.

I'm not ready for Caleb to go to school and come home telling me about all the cool things he did without me. When he's with Hayley, I know he does the same things he does with me. But I can't keep him home forever. He needs to go to school at some point. And since the daycare center was right by your office and had a space, when we talked about it that night, I agreed to enroll him. But it still kept me up a little bit at night.

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><p>A week later, I woke up to some strange noises coming from our bathroom. For a second I was worried Caleb was in there getting into trouble, but then I heard you coughing and then some sputtering and gagging. For a moment I was confused and then I realized you were sick.<p>

I slid out of bed, pulling on my robe as I opened the bathroom door.

"Santana?" I asked, tipping my head to the side as I examined you.

You were bent over the toilet, spitting into it as you held your hair to the side in a twisted bunch. You held your hand up to me, telling me not to come any closer. "I'm fine," you grunted, keeping your eyes closed.

"Baby, you don't look fine," I said, noting that your face was ashier than usual and damp with sweat.

You gagged again and I rushed forward, holding your hair as a bit of liquid splattered into the cloudy water of the toilet. It was morning, so there wasn't much in your stomach, but you were vomiting up everything you could.

Wait.

You were vomiting.

The last time I threw up was when...

A jolt of hope ran through my body. I rubbed your back and tried to bite down the smile I felt surging through me. When you sighed and stood up, wiping your mouth with a few squares of toilet paper, I cupped your cheek. You frowned and tried to shrug me off.

"Britt, I feel sick, I don't want to _hug_ right now," you whined.

I kept smiling but took my hand away. I leaned down and opened the cabinet under the sink, flicking my thumb over the baby lock so it would open all the way. I glanced over the old bottles of nail polish and curling irons and bags of cotton balls until I found the pregnancy test the sperm bank had given us. I stood up and set it on the counter as I looked back at you and grinned.

As soon as you saw the box on the counter, your mouth wavered between a smile and a terrified shudder of realization.

"Want to take it?" I offered. Despite the fact that I had only woken up a minute ago, I felt as if I'd had ten cups of coffee. I was positively buzzing with excitement.

You opened your mouth to respond, but as you did, you gagged and turned back to the toilet. I darted forward to hold your hair as you coughed up a few drops of liquid and took a few ragged, labored breaths.

"I've never felt this sick in my _life_," you declared, spitting again and wiping your mouth with more toilet paper as you stood up.

We looked at each other and I felt like my eyebrows were jumping off my face, they were arched so high. I was ecstatically hopeful, but cautious to jump to the happiest conclusion too quickly.

You shut the lid of the toilet and flushed it, sitting down immediately, hunching over and holding your head in your hands with your eyes closed. I decided to ask about other symptoms to see if they were anything like my early pregnancy symptoms.

"Is the room spinning?" I asked. I remember feeling like I was on a crazy carnival ride and couldn't get off when I was pregnant.

You nodded, misery weighing down your head as you did.

I wanted to be sure you hadn't just gotten food poisoning, so I asked if you'd eaten anything.

"No. Don't talk about food," you hushed.

"Do your boobs hurt?" My boobs were probably one of the worst things about pregnancy and post-partum adjustment, because no matter what I did, they hurt, and it went on for over a year.

You thought for a moment before nodding.

"Does your back hurt?" I asked.

"Little bit, yeah," you said.

Your answers were encouraging - if you had eaten something or just had a bug, your boobs and back wouldn't hurt. I crouched beside you and touched your wrist, willing you to look at me. You did, misery shining in your eyes.

"Baby," I murmured, brushing hair from your forehead. "I think you might be pregnant."

Your eyes darted about the room. "We should take the test though..."

"Now?" I asked.

You nodded, shutting your eyes to fight off another wave of nausea.

I sat down on the floor and took the box off the counter, opening it and examining the expiration date on the foil wrapping. It didn't expire for another six months, so I unwrapped it and handed it to you.

"You don't have to watch me pee," you mumbled, standing up to lift the lid of the toilet and pull down your pants.

"I'm gonna see you do a lot more than pee when you give birth, sweetie," I said gently. "But if you want me to leave, I will..."

You shrugged and sat down, legs parted so you could hold the test between them as you peed. "S'fine," you said.

When you finished, you shook the test off before placing it on the counter and wiping yourself. I checked the clock on the wall and noted the time. You closed the lid of the toilet, pulled up your pants and sat down again, putting your head in your hands and wavering a bit. I reached forward and rubbed your legs, trying to let you know I felt bad that you were so sick.

After a minute the nausea passed and your eyes grew soft and sad. "Baby, if it's positive, I'm so sorry..." you whispered.

I frowned and smiled at the same time. You weren't making any sense. "Why are you sorry?" I asked. "If you're pregnant, I'll be happy."

You didn't look convinced. "But if it worked on the first try... and..." Your eyes shifted around.

I knew you were worried I'd feel bad about you conceiving quicker than I had. But this was totally different. You'd taken hormone shots and used sperm that was treated specifcally to aid conception. It would be like comparing golfing with basketball. Or something like that. If you were pregnant, I would be absolutely overjoyed that we didn't have to go through all the agony we had the first time around.

I scooted closer and kept rubbing your leg. "If you're pregnant, I'll be happy," I echoed.

Eventually you leaned down further and put your head on my shoulder, looking at the wall. "I feel so crappy," you mumbled through your hair.

"I'm sorry, baby..." I hushed, rubbing your back and your leg at the same time.

When I saw the three minutes were up, I patted your arm. "Ready to look?" I hummed.

You nodded and sat up, turning towards the counter. Before you even picked it up, I saw your eyes widen and your hand shake mid-air. Instead of picking up the test, you brought your hand to cover your mouth as you started to tremble. You let out a little whimper and I searched your face.

You looked down at me, hand still covering your mouth as you nodded slowly and tears started to well up in your eyes. My pulse quickened and my hand darted up to see the test.

Two solid blue lines. _Pregnant_.

I looked up at you as my mouth fell half-open, held up by my smile. I was so much happier than I imagined I'd be. I felt as though something were bursting through my chest to get to you.

You curled forward again, putting your head on my shoulder but turning your face into me this time as you started to whimper. _Oh my god_, you squeaked through your tears and closed throat._ Oh my god_...

I wrapped my arms around you and held you as close as I could. I was absolutely overjoyed. Everything had gone the way we hoped it would on the first try. I never wanted to leave your side again.

We're going to have at least one more baby.


	12. Stutter

**A/N: Not much to say about this chapter except to thank my betas, terriblemuriel, FrogsRcool, and guest beta JJ of themostrandomfandom. **

**And Happy Mothers' Day.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 12: Stutter<strong>

* * *

><p>Morning sickness should be called all-the-time sickness, because that's how it was for me and that's how it's been for you. The first week we knew you were pregnant, I had to force you to eat every morning, promising you it would help. You winced in disbelief, swallowing the spit that was collecting in your mouth as you braced yourself against the bathroom counter.<p>

"Just a few bites, baby," I cooed, pushing a cup of honey-flavored yogurt towards you. "It'll make a big difference."

"Maybe it did for _you_," you argued. "Nothing helps me." You were exasperated and stressed out. The morning before you'd started crying and asking me how on earth you'd be able to go to work when you could hardly stand up without vomiting. I just rubbed your back and told you to take it one day at a time. That's the only way to do it.

Caleb hovered in the doorway of the bathroom with a look of deep concern on his face. After a minute he went back to his room and got Wabbit, handing him to you in a gesture of comfort. You gave him a pained smile. He grew even more concerned when you didn't seem to feel better, so he said "_Conejo_!" and pointed to Wabbit. You always brighten up and encourage him when he uses Spanish, but you were having a hard time just standing up, so he didn't get the response he expected. He looked at me, scared and confused, and I scooped him up and said, "That's very nice of you to let Mama hold _conejo_, Caleb. Her tummy is hurting a little bit right now, just like yours does sometimes. She'll feel better soon. Let's go get ready for your first day of school."

We had told him he was going to go to school and make new friends over dinner a few nights before. But he had been utterly disinterested, dipping his spoon back into his bowl of chili and trying not to spill any in his lap. He doesn't really have a good concept of time. One time you said he would get to see 'Wello 'Tonio in three days and he went to the door, looking outside for your dad's car.

I packed Caleb's favorite foods in his little _Thomas the Tank Engine_ lunchbox. You and I were going to stay for the first hour, and then you were going to your office for the rest of the day while I stayed with Caleb to show him school is fun.

You emerged from the bathroom a few minutes before we had to leave. Your hair was pulled back and you had a fresh coat of lipstick on. You seemed determined to accompany us to Caleb's first day of school, even if you were looking a bit pale and your movement was lackluster. I watched you carefully as you helped Caleb into his car seat, encouraging him to buckle himself. His hands still fumble a bit with the buckle pieces, but he's getting it. I look forward to the day he can do it himself and loading into the car doesn't take so long. But by then we'll have another little one and it will probably take even longer.

Caleb was happy as a clam in the car, talking to himself and kicking his legs just a bit in his carseat. He's even been singing a little lately, humming along and saying a few words as I helped him with _twinkle twinkle yiddle star_ and _mi burro, mi burro, le duele la cabeza_. I leaned over to grasp Caleb's hand as we walked through the parking lot. His hand was so small that the pad of his thumb pressed into the soft spot in the center of my palm. I felt the warmth of that tiny, chubby finger zip up through my arm and connect straight to my heart. I had never felt so tender and protective of anything in my life. Before I was a mom, I loved a lot of things and people. But I have never loved anything or anyone as much as I love our son. I love him with every particle of my being, and nothing he could ever do will change that.

He trotted between us as we walked toward the building, but when he saw the Kindercare door, he slowed and looked up at us. You gave him a big smile. "Here, Caleb, here's your lunchbox," you said, leaning down to hand it to him. "You need your lunchbox for school just like Mama needs her briefcase for work."

Caleb shook his head and refused to take his lunchbox from you. You carried it inside and as soon as the smell of the room hit you, I saw you reel back a bit. I put my hand on your lower back, trying to reassure you as you closed your eyes and swallowed. "Dear god, does it smell like a year's worth of dirty diapers in here to you?" you whispered.

I could smell crayons, cleaning supplies, baby wipes, and plastic toys, but nothing putrid. I just gave you a pouty smile and whispered to try to breathe through your mouth. You made an O with your lips and tried to breathe quietly.

"Welcome, Caleb!" one of the teachers sang as she walked towards us. "Are you ready for your first day of school?"

Caleb retreated behind my legs and I felt his face pressing between the backs of my knees, hiding.

"He's a little shy," I explained to the teacher, whose nametag said Miss Amanda. "He hasn't been around groups of kids, except at the library once a week."

"That's okay," Miss Amanda said with a too-sweet smile. "We're used to that. Are you both staying?" she asked.

We nodded. You were doing a little better and I wasn't as concerned you would need to dash outside to puke in the snow. "Santana's going to stay for an hour or so, and I'm going to stay until lunchtime," I said.

"Sounds great! We're so glad to finally meet Caleb," she said, ducking her head around to try to see him as he peeked through my legs. "We've seen his name at the top of the waiting list for almost a year now!" she chirped.

I frowned. I had only heard of Kindercare Columbus two weeks before. But when I saw you cringe, closing your eyes and bringing your hand up to cover your face for a second, I realized there was something you weren't telling me. That was your guilty face.

I turned to you and whispered, "A year?"

You put your hand over your mouth, still looking away, and nodded.

"You enrolled him a year ago?" I asked. There had to be some misunderstanding. You wouldn't have done that without talking to me.

But you closed your eyes and nodded. I felt my body flush hot and cold.

What had you been _thinking_, Santana? Enrolling our child in daycare without talking to me when he wasn't even a year old? Do you know how that makes me feel? It makes me feel like you think I'll make the wrong choices for him, or that my say doesn't matter. It makes me feel like I'm not an equal parent. Why do you always need to be in control of everything? The clenched fist holds nothing, Santana. When you do stuff like that, it makes me want to get as far away from you as I can.

You avoided eye contact.

"That long, huh?" I said, turning back to Miss Amanda. "I guess we just weren't quite ready."

"Come on in," Amanda beckoned.

She showed us Caleb's cubby and where to hang his little coat and store his boots. Then she invited us to come into the gated play area and set him down and see what he wanted to play with. There were about fifteen other kids there already, with more arriving every minute, and it seemed even louder than the day we visited.

Caleb didn't show any interest in the toys, not even when I took him to the blocks and tried to play "Stack the Blocks and Knock Them Over," which used to be his favorite game. He didn't like the puppets either. He stared at me as I tried to make up a story about a pony and a cat going to school for the first time. You hovered a few feet away from us and even though I wasn't looking at you, I could feel you were stiff with worry or nausea or both. I was upset with you, but I felt guilty for feeling upset because you weren't feeling well, and above all I wanted Caleb to feel okay at his new school. I focused on him because that felt the most manageable. Or the most challenging. I've had disagreements with you for most of my life, but I'm new to being a mom.

After about twenty minutes of watching us play, you said in a strained voice, "I need to go outside for a minute..."

I nodded and looked up at you. You looked scared and sick and overwhelmed as you turned away from us. I almost wanted to go after you and help you, but my anger held me back. You came back ten minutes later and knelt beside me. "I think I'm gonna go to the office," you said, swallowing and trying to take deep breaths. "I just need to sit somewhere where nothing is moving."

My stomach still felt tight and my face felt hot. I was still upset with you for hiding something from me, so I just nodded and kept trying to engage Caleb in playing with a wooden train set. "Have a good day," I offered.

I felt you wilt a little bit next to me. Of course I didn't want you to feel sick. But I don't like being deceived and you don't get off the hook just because you're pregnant. Especially when the reason I'm angry is for something you did long before you were pregnant.

Seeing that I wouldn't budge, you turned to Caleb. "Have a great first day of school, buddy," you cooed, bending down to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. "Mama can't wait to hear all about it at dinner tonight."

Caleb didn't respond, but seemed annoyed that you'd tried to distract him from the trains. He bent back down and kept running the train back and forth across the track. You watched him for a moment, admiring how handsome he was as he focused on his serious locomotive business, before standing up and adjusting your purse strap as you turned to go. "See you tonight," you said in a meek, sorrowful voice.

"See ya," I said. I didn't want to look at you because then I might feel guilty for being angry at you while you felt sick. But I didn't want to feel guilty for being angry. I had a right to be angry about what you'd done.

When you were gone I was relieved that I could focus on Caleb and his transition and deal with my anger and frustration with you later. I tried not to let my anger bubble up as I played with Caleb for another twenty minutes. Whenever another child came up to us to try to play, Caleb would clam up and retreat into me, sometimes hiding with his face between my boobs. My heart ached for him. He's so shy and no matter how gentle we are with introducing him to new people and new things, he has a hard time with it. My mom says I was like that for a little while and her heart broke every day when she dropped me off, but she felt worse when I finally liked school and would run inside, forgetting to say goodbye to her completely.

When Caleb was distracted playing in a little kitchen set, I decided to move back and let him explore on his own. I scooted away and he didn't notice. I thought that was a good sign. He played for a few minutes, banging the plastic spatula into the plastic frying pan the same way he does in his own kitchen set at our house. Then he put the frying pan on the floor - always a good spot for it - and put all the fake food in the toy microwave, struggling to close it because items kept toppling out. I scooted another few feet away as he bent to pick up a stray plastic milk carton and tried to stuff it in the microwave. When it didn't work and the toy fell out onto the floor, he turned around and saw I wasn't where I had been. A look of utter terror crossed his face as he frantically scanned the room for me. He found me quickly; I wasn't far from where I'd been, but I was too far for his taste. He darted over to me, wrapping his arms around me in a death grip and whimpering.

"It's okay, Caleb," I said, keeping my voice light and musical like you do when he's upset. "I'm here. I was watching you play and I didn't want to get in the way of your cooking."

"No," he said, shaking his head and sticking his fingers in his mouth.

"No what?" I asked him. "You don't want me to move?"

He shook his head more vehemently and snuggled against me. I rubbed his back and held him for a good five minutes, feeling his heartbeat start to settle from the shock of thinking I had left him. When I hold him, it's the only time I feel completely calm and good about being a mom. When he's in my arms, I know he's safe.

I started to doubt I'd be able to leave at lunch. It was already ten and they ate at noon, and judging by how the first hour had only yielded a bit of progress, I didn't think he'd be ready to strike out on his own. But then I thought perhaps I was projecting my own worries onto him and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He may be sensitive and shy, but he can also play independently for long periods of time when he feels safe. Hopefully school would feel safe soon.

Miss Amanda gathered the children together for a snack and I sat with my legs crammed under the little table next to Caleb, eating Goldfish crackers and bite-sized pieces of apple. He liked the snack, but it's pretty hard to find food he's not interested in. As it grew closer to the time I was supposed to leave, my heartbeat started picking up and my stomach felt uneasy. When Amanda turned to me and said, "Okay, mom, we'll see you at five thirty!" I felt like I was going to be sick. Caleb clung to me like a terrified baby monkey, and when I bent over to set him down, his eyes went wide and his fingers dug into the skin of my upper arms as he scrambled to hold on to me.

"Cay, it's okay," I cooed, "school is fun."

"Le-eh-eb!" he whimpered, his voice quivering as he clung closer still and big, shiny tears rolled down his face. My gut twisted and I was tempted to just take him home with me.

Amanda came up to us and pried Caleb off me, assuring me that most kids cried at first, but it rarely took longer than five minutes for them to calm down and start having fun. She promised that if he cried for more than fifteen minutes, she'd call me and I could come get him and try again tomorrow.

"Say _bye mommy_!" Amanda coached, trying to get Caleb to wave as I picked up my purse, put on my coat and forced one foot in front of the other. When I got to the door I realized I hadn't kissed him goodbye and darted back, putting big, sloppy kisses all over his face and trying not to cry as I promised him I'd be back soon. He sobbed and sobbed and as I walked out the door and rounded the corner, I could hear him start to _wail_.

When I was out of sight, I leaned against a building and squeezed my eyes shut. My tears cooled quickly in the January air, but inside my chest felt like a vacuum was sucking everything out. I wanted to call you so badly, but I was still mad at you.

It was too cold to stay outside for long, so I walked back to my car and got inside, letting myself cry for a minute as the image of Caleb crying and reaching for me played over and over in my head. I felt like a horrible mom, leaving him in a room full of strangers when he was so upset. I decided to go back and get him. But as soon as I put my hand on the door latch, I stopped myself. Caleb has to go to school at some point. I decided I'd give him fifteen minutes and see what happened. But I needed to distract myself in the meantime so I wouldn't hear the echo of him crying on repeat in my head. Again, my first impulse was to call you, but I wasn't ready to forgive you. I wanted to talk to Julie, because I knew she wouldn't care if I cried and sounded ridiculous. But Julie has _way_ too much going on in her life and I didn't want to bother her with my petty problems. As her friend I needed to help lighten her load, not add to it. I could have called my mom, but I felt like she'd make light of it, telling me not to worry, or worse, go on a tangent about _my_ first day of school. What I really needed was someone to just listen.

So I called our friend Danielle. Andrew and Eliza are in middle school now, but I was pretty sure Danielle would have some good advice. She picked up using her business voice. "Danielle Beaugarde, Reflections PR Management."

I tried not to sniffle as I said, "Hey Danielle, it's Brittany."

Her voice softened when she heard it was me. She could probably hear I was upset. She became so gentle and concerned, I had no trouble telling her what had happened. Well, I had trouble telling her, but only because my words were muffled by my tears and my throat kept closing.

Danielle told me it was okay to cry and that she had cried too when she had to leave her kids at daycare for the first time. She reminded me that any transition is hard and takes some time. She told me to go home and try to stay busy and to call her if I needed to cry some more. I thanked her and hung up, pulling out of my parking spot and trying to stay strong for Caleb. But I still felt awful. I called the daycare and asked for Amanda, telling her that Caleb's Wabbit was in his cubby and if he was still upset, Wabbit would calm him down a little bit. She gave me a rushed thanks and assured me he would be fine.

When I got home I folded a load of laundry and put it in Caleb's dresser. Inside I saw a bunch of clothes he'd outgrown and decided to put them in the garage with all the other clothes we were saving. When I took the bag containing some of my favorite of Caleb's baby clothes - his trusty overalls, his Yale sweater, his puppy pajamas - I saw his crib pieces leaning against the plastic bins full of all Caleb's baby stuff. I remembered his little baby expressions: the bewildered expression he'd given us the first time we gave him a bath, the surprise on his face the first time we put him in the baby swing, the way he looked so proud of himself when I walked into his nursery and he was standing up in his crib for the first time. I will never get my baby boy back. I know we'll get to experience infanthood again, but it will be different than it was with Caleb. I miss my baby boy _so much_.

I started crying again and had to stop and sit on the floor of the garage. My chest hurt and my head was pounding from so much crying and my cheeks felt chaffed from my sleeve running over and over them for the past hour. After a minute I just couldn't take it anymore. I went inside and opened my laptop, doing the one thing I swore I wouldn't do; checking the webcam of Caleb's daycare room. I logged in and connected to the stream, and the first thing I saw when the image came onscreen was Caleb, huddled in the corner, clutching Wabbit to his chest, whimpering. My chest felt sucked out all over again and I started to feel sick. Just then Amanda walked over to him, squatting down to his level, gently offering him a toy. He shook his head and cried a little harder, turning away from her and rubbing his face into Wabbit.

I looked at my watch. Caleb had been at school alone, crying, for almost forty five minutes.

I was done restraining myself. I ran downstairs, grabbed my keys and jumped in the car. I zoomed downtown and parked haphazardly outside his daycare, running inside with my coat flapping open.

As soon as Caleb saw me, he darted over to me, clinging to me with newfound desperation. "Mamamamamaaa!" he wailed. "Mamamaaaaa!"

"I'm so sorry, baby... I'm so sorry," I cooed. "I'm sorry I left you." I felt like the worst mom in the world, and was bewildered that Caleb was taking such comfort in me. He pressed his face into the crook of my neck and I could feel his sticky tears as he started to settle down.

I heard the ding of the door opening behind me and Caleb shifted in my arms, looking over my shoulder. "Mamaaa!" he cried, his voice still hoarse and exhausted from what must have been over an hour of crying.

I looked over my shoulder and you were rushing to us, your face in a guilty panic as you cupped Caleb's face and murmured apologies to him. "So sorry, sweetie... sorry, muffin... It's okay, Mama and Mom-ny are here now, it's okay..." You kissed his cheeks to wipe away his giant, shiny tears that were still dripping down and pressed your cheek to his. Then you looked up at me. "I'm so sorry," you whispered.

I pursed my lips and nodded once. Your apology was a start, but we had a lot more talking to do before I could go back to normal with you. Pregnant or not, you hurt my feelings and went behind my back and that doesn't go away with one _sorry_.

"Let's go home," you offered.

I nodded and picked up Caleb's lunch box, telling Amanda we'd call her later.

On the drive home, I sang to Caleb and tried to use my happy mom voice to calm him down. He was looking much better, but he was still watching everything around him with heightened vigilance and holding Wabbit with both hands in his lap. When we got home, your car was already in the driveway.

You lay as still as you could on the couch with your arm over your eyes. As soon as I set Caleb down, he toddled over to you and started patting you on the arm, checking to see if you were okay.

"Hey Caleb," you mumbled.

"Are you feeling sick?" I asked. Even if I was upset with you, I never want you to feel sick.

"Driving is a little rough," you said. "Hopefully I'll be okay in a minute."

"Hopefully," I said. "I'm going to give Caleb his lunch."

You nodded and I picked Caleb up, taking off his coat and buckling him into his booster seat at the table. I opened his lunchbox and he dove right in.

I made myself a peanut butter and apple sandwich and reheated some buttered pasta for you, figuring you'd want something bland and easy to get down. I took our food into the living room, but you weren't there. I noticed the downstairs bathroom door was closed and figured that's where you were. I knocked and you groaned and said "come in."

You were sitting on the floor across from the toilet.

"I feel better in here," you explained.

I remember feeling less anxious in early pregnancy when I was in or near a bathroom. I nodded and offered you the pasta. You mumbled a thank you, but didn't take it. You put your head in your hands.

"I'm really sorry," you mumbled. "I don't know what I was thinking."

You still looked sick and I wanted to forgive you so you'd feel a little better, but I resisted the urge. "We can talk about it when you feel better," I offered.

You shook your head. "It's making me feel sicker knowing you're mad at me."

"Okay..." I drawled. I didn't know how to start the conversation about you going behind my back and enrolling Caleb in daycare, so I just waited for you to talk. Caleb would be okay for a few minutes in his booster seat. He had his lunch to keep him occupied. I sat on the bathmat a few feet away from you.

You sighed. "It was back when Caleb was really little and you got sick again. I just wanted to make sure we had options if we needed childcare so you could get better. I didn't want to stress you out and I thought that choosing a daycare would stress you out, so I just did it... But then Hayley was available so I kept telling them it was okay to take people off the waitlist. When you were so panicked the other week I thought it had all worked out perfectly and you wouldn't know... but that was stupid."

I understood a little better why you had done what you'd done now, but it was still not okay that you hadn't mentioned anything to me, even if I _had_ been sick. Being depressed doesn't mean I'm incapable of making decisions. So I said just that. "Just because I was sick doesn't mean I couldn't make decisions."

You nodded.

"Do you want me to make decisions about Caleb without you just because you're dealing with morning sickness?" I asked, driving my point further.

You shook your head, dropping it a bit. "I want to make all our decisions about the kids together."

That was the first time you'd said _kids_ since we found out we were expecting again. That, paired with your sincere apology, warmed my heart. I nodded. "Good," I said. There was a moment of silence as you tipped your head back against the wall. You opened your eyes and I could tell you were feeling less sick.

"I'm guessing you don't want to take him back there," you said.

I was glad you understood. "Not really," I said. "They said they'd call if he cried for more than fifteen minutes, but they didn't."

You nodded. "I ran down there the second I logged on to see him again after I saw you leave."

The image of you watching us play from your office warmed my heart even more. You really do love us more than we'll ever know.

"We'll find a better situation, okay? We'll decide together," you said. You lifted your hand towards me, flopping it down on the floor when you couldn't quite reach.

I leaned forward and brushed your hand with mind. "Okay."

You let out a relieved sigh and stood up. Then you stopped, steadying yourself against the counter. "Oh god..." you said, turning towards the toilet. I hopped to my feet, alert and ready to hold your hair or rub your back. You flipped the seat up and paused for just a moment before gagging and coughing. You gulped for air before coughing again, some fluid dribbling into the water as you spat and gasped and groaned. It was painful to watch and my stomach ached in sympathy.

When you were done throwing up, you stood and wiped your mouth. "I'm glad I came home for lunch..." you mumbled. You took a deep breath and then exhaled. "I'm sorry, I'm trying to keep it together."

I don't know what you meant by _keep it together_, but ever since we found out, you'd been acting as though nothing had changed. It worried me, actually. Aside from skipping your morning coffee and having milk instead of wine with dinner, your routine was exactly the same. You never gave yourself time to rest. Maybe you were getting sick so often because your body was screaming for you to recognize what was going on.

"Baby, you should slow down," I said. "Your body is going through a huge change."

You didn't understand what I meant. "I would never do anything to hurt the baby. Or- babies," you shuddered.

"I know," I said. I paused to think about how to tell you slow down in a way you could understand, but you kept talking.

"I'm doing the best I can, Britt. I'm trying to stay strong for you and Caleb, but it's really hard."

"You don't have to be strong for me," I soothed, brushing your hair off your damp forehead. "You can lean on me a little more. I want to do a lot more than just hold your hand while you give birth."

You gave me a weak nod as you took a sip of water. No sooner had you swallowed it, you lurched back to the toilet and coughed it out. After a few seconds you looked back up at me. "Is it too late to change my mind?" you said in a joking yet pained voice.

I remember that fear: the fear of knowing you're on a one-way street and the only way out is giving birth. Of course the baby makes it all worth it. But the concept of what you'll have to do to get there is terrifying, especially if you haven't gone through it and all you've heard is how awful it is. I remember when I was pregnant and sick, thinking about giving birth made me feel even sicker. "I know the feeling…"

You exhaled. "I'm glad you went through this first," you sighed. "But I have no idea how you managed to be so elegant while you were pregnant. I feel like crap from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep."

I just wanted to hold you and soak up that crappy feeling so you wouldn't be so drenched in it. But you were feeling sick and you don't like being held when you're sick. "I didn't feel very graceful," I said, shrugging. "I bet in a few weeks you'll feel much better."

"I hope," you mumbled.

When you stood up and gave me a brave nod, I put my hand on your back and ushered you to the kitchen where Caleb was still munching away. You were able to force down some noodles and milk and a banana before going back to the office.

When you got home that night, you were feeling well enough to eat some lasagna and green beans. After dinner you helped me give Caleb his bath. Usually just one of us does it, but after such an eventful day, doing something simple and routine together helped calm us down. Bathtime is still Caleb's favorite. He likes to stick his face under the water and blow bubbles. He also loves to splash, but neither of us want to mop every night, so after we washed his body and his hair, you closed the shower curtain and poked your head through the side and said "okay… go!" You and I had to cover our mouths to keep from laughing out loud as he went _wild_ splashing for a few minutes. After bath he was tired and we read books to him in our bed and then tucked him into his own. As we shut the door to his room, you turned to me with a little victorious smile. We had all survived the day.

When we got back downstairs, you told me you'd asked around the office about other childcare places and a few people had given you names. One woman even had a business card from the daycare her daughter had gone to, which you pulled out of your purse. It was a simple card with a picture of a hummingbird on it, with the words "Hummingbird's Nest: Wholesome Care for Your Child In a Cozy Home Environment" above a single phone number. We tried searching online for it, but there was no website. We did find several glowing reviews on mommy blogs and childcare ratings websites. You read some aloud to me, and I loved what the reviewers had to say. They all talked about how magical someone named Brenda was and how their children came home from school happy, well rested, and singing the sweetest little songs. You asked me if I wanted to call and see if they had openings, and I said yes. I knew you were being extra careful to ensure we made decisions together, which made me feel even better. It felt like we were a united front again.

* * *

><p>Even talking on the phone, I could tell Brenda was just as warm as the reviews had said. Her voice was so soft it was almost a whisper as she informed me that she had one spot opening up in a week, and we were welcome to visit and see if it would be a good fit for Caleb. When we went to visit Hummingbird's Nest, I felt like my whole body exhaled in relief as we walked through the door. Walking into her house, which had been adapted to be a small daycare, I felt safe and calm and even a little sleepy. The walls were a faint peach color and the carpet was rosy and soft beneath our feet after we took off our shoes. The children's furniture in the room was sturdy and wooden. The sofa in the play room was dusty blue and looked worn and comfortable. There was a bookshelf filled with well-loved books, and I even spotted <em>Harold and the Purple Crayon<em> on the bottom shelf. Silky white curtains covered the big windows on each side of the room. It was the perfect little bubble to leave Caleb in.

Brenda invited us to stay for an hour or so and observe, setting out two chairs for us in the corner of the room. We sat down, Caleb on my lap, eager to see if our initial impression lasted.

There were six other children in Brenda's care, ranging from ages one to four. They all seemed to get along and Brenda picked up on every interaction, quickly sliding between two children who were having a conflict over a favorite toy, distracting one with a puppet or book or a request to help her set napkins out on the snack table.

To my utter surprise, after about ten minutes, Caleb wiggled in my lap, feet reaching for the floor. As he took a few tentative steps into the room, I saw your jaw drop and heard you suck in air in surprise. Caleb observed for a moment on the fringe before marching forward, brave as ever, and picking up a monkey puppet and walking towards a little boy who looked about eighteen months old. The other boy looked at him and grinned before taking the puppet. Caleb looked back at us and smiled before sitting down next to the other boy.

Caleb played happily for half an hour, looking back at us only a handful of times. When Brenda invited him to share snack, Caleb followed the rest of the kids to the table without even glancing our way. You slid your hand into mine and we watched him, all grown up, content as he munched on sliced peaches and oatmeal. I squeezed your hand and looked at you. You smiled at me and all I had to do was nod. We knew we'd found the perfect place for our boy.

* * *

><p>Your first prenatal appointment went fine. I could hardly stand still next to you, I was so excited. Going to doctor's appointments makes it feel very real, and since your body looked the same and our only confirmation you were pregnant had been a test stick, a missed period, and constant morning sickness, it was very exciting to see doctors and nurses acknowledging your pregnancy. It made it more real.<p>

Dr. Greene assured us everything was going well, and when you asked about scanning for twins, she said it was still too early to tell, but in a few weeks we would be able to see the heartbeat and we might know then. You swallowed and nodded. When she asked if you had any more questions, you just shook your head and sat up, collecting your things.

I was a bit perplexed; you always have so many questions when you're scared, and I know your pregnancy is scary to you. But you seemed to be going about life as if you weren't pregnant. Even though you were sick and dizzy all the time, you were working the same crazy hours. You took Caleb to the library on Saturday mornings and tried to meet Elinor for drinks - virgin now - on Thursday nights. The only thing you did differently was that you didn't want to touch me at all. Whenever I curled around you and put my hand on your tummy, you hunched away. "I feel gross, Britt," you always insisted, tucking my hand back behind you and scooting away. You sometimes followed up with an apology, but it was really hard not to feel hurt. When I was pregnant, I wanted you with me _all the time_ and I wanted to be touching and snuggling and whispering about all our hopes for the baby. But you seemed to be shrinking away. You never initiated sex, and when I tried, you pushed me away. I spent more than a few nights staring at the ceiling, telling myself over and over again that your pregnancy wasn't going to be exactly like mine and that I shouldn't take it personally that you didn't want to cuddle. But I did take it personally. I love being close to you, and knowing you were right there but didn't want to touch me at all hurt a lot. I tried not to let the bed shake when I cried. This was supposed to bring us closer. I miss you so much, Santana.

* * *

><p>One night after dinner we got a phone call. You looked at the caller ID and turned to me. "Julie," you said. You answered and right away your brow knit together. "Wait, wait, slow down," you instructed her. "<em>Who's<em> testifying on his behalf? Can I put Britt on speaker?"

She must have agreed because a second later I heard the cavernous echo of Julie crying on speakerphone.

"Tim's whole department!" she said, her voice tight and strained. "His lawyer is bringing them in as character witnesses. I should never have started this!"

I saw you bite your lips to keep yourself from cursing in anger. You had told me multiple time how slimy Tim's lawyer, Jeremy Baldwin, was, and it made me feel sick to my stomach to see how he was ganging up on Julie. How can people sleep at night when they defend violent men for a living? I asked you that once and you shuddered and said you hoped you'd never have to find out.

I had a hard time hearing what Julie was saying through her tears, but I certainly heard what you said next.

"We'll testify on your behalf."

It cut through my jumbled thoughts and shook me. My first thought was of absolute panic; I didn't want to get up in front of a courtroom and talk! That was _your_ thing, not mine. I would be no good at it at all. I don't know all the fancy lawyer words and people don't always understand what I mean. But as soon as Julie gave us a choked, relieved _thank you_, I knew I had to do it. I would do just about anything to help Julie.

We only had a month until the trial started, so we both met with her lawyer to talk about our testimony a week later. You knew exactly what to expect, and I felt like the only one out of the loop. You both used so many legal terms, and even though you tried to explain it with words I could understand, I was still confused and scared. I'd never been in a courtroom, and you were shocked when I reminded you of that.

"How is it possible you're married to a lawyer and have never been in a courtroom?" you gasped.

I shrugged and reminded you that the only time you were doing litigation work was the first time I got sick, and there were only a few months between when I came back and when we moved back to Lima to take care of my dad after his stroke. We went to the courthouse to apply for a marriage license, but that was just in a stuffy office, not a courtroom. You frowned but realized it was true and explained that it was nothing like courtrooms on TV. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. As we walked out to the car, I grabbed your hand and squeezed.

"Will you come with me when I testify?" I asked.

You gave me a hesitant smile. "I'll try. They won't let me in the room if I haven't given my testimony yet, but I'll try to arrange with the D.A. so I can go first, okay?"

That didn't soothe me as much as I hoped. I wanted some kind of guarantee you'd be there to smile and encourage me if I got stuck. But it was the best you could do.

Two weeks went by and the only thing that changed was my increasing anxiety over testifying for Julie. What if I said the wrong thing? What if I got confused or couldn't remember something really important? What if I sounded really stupid and everyone laughed at me? I tried not to think about it and focused on the happy things, like Caleb's growing love for school and Brenda, who he called Friend-a. I don't know if he called her that on purpose or because Brenda is hard to say. Regardless, he was growing up and making new friends. He even had a playdate - at our house of course - with a little boy named Evan, who was a few months older than him. Evan had a baby brother named Max who came with Evan's mom to drop Evan off and pick him up. Caleb was absolutely fascinated by Max. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and looked at Max as he slept, making tiny snuffling noises in his nest of blankets. As I watched Caleb peer down into Max's carrier, I got little butterflies, imagining him holding a little brother or sister. I know we need to wait until it's a little closer, but I can't wait to tell him.

* * *

><p>I paced back and forth in the hallway of the courthouse. My shoes felt too small, but at the same time they were slipping off my heels with each step because my feet were sweating. I felt like every part of my body was sweating even though I was cold. I had been looking around me for the past twenty minutes, craning my neck up and down the hall, desperate to see your shiny black hair or your blazer or something that would comfort me. You promised you would be there before I had to go in, and I knew you wouldn't break your promise. But you were fifteen minutes late, which is unlike you. I had called you a few times, but you hadn't picked up. You were probably trying to find parking and didn't want to juggle your phone while you drove.<p>

I waited another ten minutes, my hands growing clammier and my legs shakier by the second. You still weren't there when Julie's lawyer came into the hall and ushered me into the courtroom, murmuring last minute instructions about answering the questions simply and without detail. I was too scared to listen though, so I just nodded as I walked to my seat. After I saw Julie and gave her a smile to try to help her be brave, I kept my eyes in my lap, not wanting to see how many people were in the room that would be listening to me. And I certainly didn't want to look at Tim or any of his police officer buddies. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a group of them sitting right behind him.

When I got into the witness box, I felt like an enormous spotlight was on me and the air around me was a hundred degrees. All my clothing felt too big or too small, and my feet couldn't be planted firm enough on the ground. Everything felt tippy.

I was glad Julie's lawyer was asking me questions first. He asked me how long I'd known Julie, how much time we spent together, and how long I'd known about the abuse. He asked about specific injuries and conversations we'd had regarding Tim. He asked me if I thought Julie was a deceptive or unstable person, to which I shook my head hard and said she was one of the most honest, loving people I had ever met. Answering the questions was easy, and I started to relax a little. I could see why you like being a lawyer. It feels good to help people. Julie's lawyer turned to the judge, saying he had no more questions, and the judge invited Tim's lawyer to crossexamine me.

Jeremy Baldwin looked just as scary as you had described him. I'd seen him out of the corner of my eye while Julie' lawyer questioned me, but I didn't really look at him until he was asking me questions. He was at least six and a half feet tall and had broad shoulders and big hands. His tailored suit made him look rich and powerful, and as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, I felt like I needed to shrink down in my seat to make room for his voice. If he were in a movie he would play a dictator or a sorcerer or a bank owner. I really hoped his questions would be as easy as the questions I had just answered. But his mirthful, sly expression told me they wouldn't be.

"Ms. Lopez-Pierce, you've known Ms. Owens for eighteen months now, correct?"

I nodded, looking at the railing of the witness box. The railing was safe and sturdy and grounded. But it wasn't as helpful as looking at you would have been.

"In that time, did you ever see Mr. Owens lay a hand on Mrs. Owens?"

I shook my head.

"Did you ever see her trip or fall or bump into a piece of furniture?"

I had seen Julie trip a few times, and one time she banged her shin against the coffee table. "Yes," I said. "Once or twice."

"Would you say Ms. Owens is clumsy?"

Julie had said to me many times that she was clumsy, but it was always in effort to downplay her injuries. I looked right at her as I said, "No."

Mr. Baldwin raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Ms. Pierce, have you yourself ever walked into a piece of furniture or tripped and fallen?"

Mr. Baldwin's questions were stupid, but they were making me anxious, like there was something I wasn't understanding. I took a moment to try to figure out what he was asking about.

"Miss Pierce, answer the question," I heard the judge say, as if from the end of a tunnel.

I swallowed. "It's _Lopez_-Pierce," I mumbled. I really needed the Lopez part of me. But you weren't there. Where were you? Everything was starting to swim. I stared at the railing hard.

"Answer the question, Ms. Lopez-Pierce,"

"Yes," I answered.

"Have you ever had a bruise as a result of such a fall or collision?"

I knew where Mr. Baldwin was going with his questions now. "Yes, but nothing like the bruises Julie had."

"Objection!" Mr. Baldwin said, his voice booming a bit louder. "We have no evidence of any bruises other than the single photograph presented in yesterday's proceedings."

You had told me the courtroom would be different than the ones on TV, but it certainly felt like one. It felt echoey and tense and filled with dramatic, dishonest people. Julie was the only person in the room I trusted. But I was scared to look at her. I didn't want to see if she was disappointed in me for not answering questions the right way.

"At what point did you meet Tim Owens?"

I swallowed. "I didn't."

"You didn't meet him?" Mr. Baldwin said in exaggerated surprised.

I must have given the wrong answer because Mr. Baldwin looked pleased.

"We were never formally introduced," I explained. "He came to my house once to-" I stopped, realizing I shouldn't bring up Yoshi. I didn't want to get Julie in trouble for my dognapping. "To ask my wife some questions. I never spoke to him."

"So you knew Ms. Owens for a _year_ and a half and never made an effort to meet her husband?"

That made me sound like a bad friend. "Of course I wanted to meet him, but he was working a lot and I was never invited over when he was home."

Mr. Baldwin continued strutting back and forth in front of the where I was sitting. "Ms. _Lopez_-Pierce," he stressed, "When did you say you found about the alleged abuse?"

"About a year ago."

"So you _'knew'_" he airquoted, "for over six months before the first report was filed?"

I nodded.

"Did you believe Ms. Owens was in danger due to the alleged abuse?"

I nodded.

"So why didn't you report the 'abuse'," he airquoted again, "when you first found out?"

It was the question I'd been asking myself every day since you found out and yelled at me for not telling anyone. There was no way to know if I was right or wrong to keep Julie's secret. I don't think I'll ever know. But no matter what, I would probably have felt like I made the wrong choice. "Julie didn't want me to report it." It was the truth, and it was the main reason I hadn't told anyone.

Mr. Baldwin grunted. "Seems awfully strange behavior if you thought your friend was in danger. Tell me, Miss Pierce, how often would you say you visited Ms. Owens in the past year and a half?"

I knew his questions were supposed to trick me, but I couldn't see where he was leading me. If I turned my head one way, I wouldn't see another tricky question sneaking up on me, or I'd stumble over a branch and fall. But I was looking in so many directions trying not to trip I was starting to get dizzy. I was so alone. This was your world, not mine. I looked at the door, hoping you'd walk through it, but you didn't. My shoulders were bunching up. Everything about the courtroom and the people in it - except for Julie - made my skin crawl and my stomach hurt. I swallowed. "Um... three times a week. Maybe four. I don't know."

"Four times a week!" he said, startling me as his eyebrows danced up while he paced casually in front of me. It felt like a menacing lumber rather than a stroll. "And did you ever have other people join you?"

I shook my head. "Just her daughter and my son. Our babies play together."

"Miss Pierce - may I call you Brittany?" Mr. Baldwin asked, looking at me with feigned interest in my response.

I gave him a shrug. His question wasn't really a question. He was going to call me Brittany.

"Brittany, how long did you know Ms. Owens before you informed her that you are a lesbian?"

I shifted in my seat. Everything around me felt prickly and wrong and too hot. "I'm not a lesbian..." I mumbled.

Mr. Baldwin raised his eyebrows in a look of mocking interesting. "Are you or are you not married to Santana Lopez-Pierce?"

"I am," I answered. I fiddled with the ruby ring on my finger. That ring meant you should have been there. But you weren't.

Mr. Baldwin turned around and lifted his hands to the group of police officers, a few of whom were snickering. "Have they changed the definition of lesbian since I last checked?" he asked in a mocking voice.

"No, I- I like men too," I stuttered.

"Oh _do_ you," Mr. Baldwin said, turning back to me. "Men like Tim here?" He gestured to the table where I could feel Tim sneering at me.

I looked at my feet and shook my head. I heard Tim's department snickering louder and I wanted to dissolve into the ground. I was messing up Julie's case so badly and I knew it, but there was no one there to rescue me and tell me what to say and which questions were tricks. You would have known exactly what to say to Jeremy Baldwin. But you weren't there. I was so scared and alone.

"Tell me, Miss Pierce, do you care for Ms. Owens?"

He had called me the wrong name several times now, but I didn't want to point it out. That question was easy. "Of course."

"And were you or were you not trying to lure her away from her husband when you suggested she make these preposterous allegations against my client?"

I almost choked. "I never- I didn't tell her to- It's not like that!"

I looked over at Julie. She looked horrified as her gaze darted between me and her lawyer. Wasn't her lawyer supposed to object or something? Wasn't someone supposed to help me? I needed you here to tell me what to do!

"Brittany, would you kindly state for the courtroom your profession?" Mr. Baldwin asked. His voice was a little softer, as if he were going to ease up on me. Talking about my work was safe, right? My stomach unclenched a little bit, but I still felt the back of my neck prickling and my feet were ice cold.

"I'm a nurse."

"What kind of nurse?"

"A hospice nurse."

Mr. Baldwin nodded in approval and paced for a moment. Then he turned to me and said, "What can you tell me about your association with the late Neil Manning?"

I hadn't talked about Neil in a long time. I thought about him a lot - it's kind of hard to forget someone who gives you a house - but no one had ever asked me about him.

"I, um - I was his hospice nurse," I said. My voice sounded unsure.

"And how long did you work for him?"

"About six months," I said.

"Would you say you were close to him?" Mr. Baldwin asked. His voice was trying to be non-threatening, which scared me more.

"No, I wouldn't say that. But he did request that I-"

Mr. Baldwin cut me off, "Then _why_ did he bequeath his second home to you in his will, Brittany? How do you explain that _you_, his nurse for only six months of his long and influential life, inherited an entire house?"

My mouth opened and closed as I searched for words. I had done the exact same thing when I heard the house had been left to me, only this time the shock was like being punched in the stomach. "He- He was very generous," I gasped.

"Did you _ask_ him for the house, Brittany?" Mr. Baldwin squinted at me.

"No!" I exclaimed. "I would never-"

"Just like you would never suggest that Ms. Owens leave her husband."

I didn't know what to say to that. Of course I would suggest Julie leave her husband if she was unhappy or being hurt. I would tell anyone to do that. But I wouldn't tell her to leave him for my own reasons.

I realized I hadn't said anything when Mr. Baldwin leaned down a little bit, his face signalling he was waiting for an answer. "Did you ever tell Ms. Owens to leave her husband?"

I swallowed and tried to smooth my voice out. "I told her she didn't deserve to get hit and the only way to make it stop was to leave him."

"So you _did_ suggest she leave him," he confirmed.

I nodded.

Mr. Baldwin gave me a satisfied nod. He turned and walked to the table and pulled out an large white envelope. "Brittany, I have here a few pieces of evidence that I have been unable to share with my client due to the restraining order filed against him. But I'm sure it will pique your interest. It certainly interested the judge," he said with a cat-like grin, glancing at the man in the box above me. He sauntered toward me and pulled a stack of pictures out of the envelope, placing them on the railing in front of me.

My throat closed and I thought I was going to be sick. The picture on top was of my parents' house, with my car in the driveway. On the porch steps I could see Caleb and Zoe bending over to pet Yoshi, and next to my car, I stood with my arms around Julie. I could see I was smiling.

"Did you or did you not assist Ms. Owens in finding a new residence?"

I was cornered now. Mr. Baldwin was poised to attack not only me and Julie, but my parents and Caleb and Zoe and Yoshi. Mr. Baldwin had had my car followed all the way to Lima and someone had taken pictures of me and Caleb while I was having what I thought was a nice afternoon with my friend. But now everything seemed tainted and nowhere was safe. My heart was pounding and my head was spinning. "I- I did," I choked.

"And did you go visit her often in this new residence?" he asked. The pitch of his voice was rising and I felt it piercing through my head.

I nodded.

"Did you offer her money and clothing and gifts as a reward for doing what you asked her to do?"

He was making everything I had done to help Julie seem dirty and manipulative. I have never wanted anything from Julie but friendship. I have only done for her what I would hope someone would do for me if I was in her shoes. I shook my head. "I gave her money and clothes and food so she could have a fresh start. I never expected anything in return."

"Just like you never expected anything in return from Mr. Manning?"

I felt like I was about to cry. I was so angry that nobody was helping me. I was in a strange place that had rules I didn't understand. Thankfully Julie's lawyer stood up and objected.

Mr. Baldwin held up his hands in mock apology. "Your honor, I beg your pardon, but I have to wonder if this woman is really a credible character witness." His voice was pretending to be disappointed, but I could hear he was slyly victorious. "There seems to be a lot of things about her that don't add up. My client, on the other hand, is an upstanding citizen, a respected police officer, and a devoted husband." He pointed to the men in uniform sitting behind Tim. "All these men here have testified to his character, and the only people who have come forward to testify on Ms. Owens' behalf have had serious character flaws." He turned to me, his eyes raking up and down my body and making me feel as though all the clothing in the world wouldn't be enough. He held up a hand in mock surrender. "No more questions, your honor."

I was left swimming and sick with guilt and the sinking feeling that I had just done irreparable damage to Julie's case. The judge thanked me for my testimony and I managed to squeak out a question, asking if I could leave. He gave me a stiff nod and I bolted out of the room.

When I got out of the courtroom, I ran straight out the door of the courthouse as I fished through my purse for my phone. I needed to talk to you because you were the only thing that Mr. Baldwin hadn't threatened. You were the only thing that was safe, the only person who might be able to fix everything I had just ruined. Surely you had called me to tell me why you weren't there. But there were no missed calls or text messages or anything on the screen of my phone. The knot in my stomach clinched and I was about to call you when my phone buzzed in my hand. It startled me.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Brittany Lopez-Pierce?" a young male voice scratched through the phone.

"Yes."

"You're listed as the emergency contact for Santana Lopez-Pierce. We wanted to let you know she's just been admitted to the emergency room."


	13. Whether You Fall

Thanks so much to my betas, terriblemuriel and FrogsRcool!

The title of this chapter comes from the Tracy Bonham song by the same name. It makes a good soundtrack.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: Whether You Fall<strong>

I felt completely disconnected from my body, like it knew what to do while the rest of me followed along, my vision jostled and my thoughts scrambled. I have no idea how I got from the courthouse to the hospital without crashing my car. I have no idea how I managed to call my sister and ask her to pick up Caleb from Hummingbird's Nest after she got off work. I have no idea what I said to the person at the desk in the emergency room. I only know that I finally felt back in my body when I saw you lying in a hospital bed, awake and watching the TV in the corner. Your hair was a little tangled as it fanned out on the pillow, relaxed and wild like it is on the weekends when you don't blow dry or style it. You looked ashy and tired, but I couldn't see any bruises or cuts or bandages. My eyes were drawn to your hand where it rested on your stomach. I had to swallow to keep the nausea down.

I flew to your side and you turned your head to me. "Are you okay?" I gasped. I wrapped my arms around your neck. I wanted to squeeze you to me as tight as I could and never let go, but I didn't know if you were hurt, so I tried to be gentle.

"Sweetie, I'm _fine_," you cooed, your voice light and airy and calmer than I'd heard you in months. "Denton just overreacted."

"Overreacted to what?" I demanded. No one had told me anything about what had happened. Or if they had, I hadn't heard. Blood had been rushing in my ears and my thoughts of car crashes and broken bones and seizures and gushing blood had been too loud to be drowned out.

"I had a little fainting spell in the copy room and I bumped my head. It's seriously nothing, sending me here was ridiculous."

I jerked back, looking over your head to see if the bump was visible. "Where?" I demanded.

You pointed to the side of your head and I gently felt with my fingers through your hair. There was a tiny bump, but nothing that made my gut twist.

"Do you have a concussion?" I asked. My words were still spilling out with all my air and it sounded like I was gasping.

You shook your head and I wanted to tell you to keep it still just in case you did have a concussion. "I'm fine. They just want to hold me here for a little longer to make sure."

"How many fingers?" I demanded, holding up my hand, palm open.

"Four," you said with a little grin. "Plus a thumb."

I exhaled in exasperation. I didn't appreciate your joke when I was so freaked out.

You put your hand on mine on the rail of the bed to comfort me. I looked down at your other hand and swallowed. I was afraid to ask, but I had to. "And the baby?"

"The baby's fine," you said, your voice lower. Your calmness started to wash over me and I felt the tension begin to ease in my gut.

"Did they scan?" I asked.

You bit your lip and nodded.

"And everything's okay?"

You nodded again and then opened your mouth. You paused for a moment, unsure if you should tell me something. My heart sped up at your hesitance. Your eyes flickered away and then back to me. "I heard the heartbeat."

Now I really let go, my shoulders dropping as I finally slowed down.

You squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry..." you murmured. "I asked them to wait for you, but they wouldn't."

I shook my head. "No, no, it's okay... I'm so relieved... Oh my god, Santana, don't _ever_ scare me like that again."

You lifted your arms up to me, signaling you wanted me to bend down and hug you again. I leaned down and settled into the crook of your neck and inhaled, hoping the familiar smell would quiet my heart as it slowed down from its furious pounding. I felt like I hadn't been this close to you in ages. I never wanted to move.

"Here," you said, patting my back and scooting over in the bed. "Snuggle."

Trying to maintain as much contact with you as I could, I climbed into the hospital bed and curled into you. "I was so scared," I mumbled. "I thought something horrible had happened to you or maybe we- maybe we lost..." I trailed off, my throat closing around the words that were too awful to say.

"Everyone's fine..." you hushed. You rubbed your hand up and down my far shoulder, easing me down as my body quieted. "You and me and Caleb's little brother or sister."

I pulled my head back to look at you, slower and calmer. "One baby?"

You nodded. "One baby."

Now I realized why you looked so calm. You had been so terrified of carrying twins, you were relieved you got to hear the heartbeat earlier than our next appointment. I remember when we heard the heartbeat in Caleb's first ultrasound and how paralyzed you had been then. The little galloping noise you heard this time must have been soothing because it didn't have a second one echoing next to it, magnifying your fear.

I traced my hand over your stomach, which was still pretty flat, save for a little bump that could have been a hearty meal. You weren't showing yet, at least not to an ignorant eye.

"What was it like?" I asked. "The heartbeat," I clarified.

"So soft and sweet. Just like Caleb's," you smiled. "I almost cried."

I traced my hand over your stomach and tried to picture you alone in the exam room, nurses fussing around you in the stark, medical lighting. I would have been terrified if I'd been alone. "Were you scared?"

You bit your lip and looked down where my hand was resting on your barely-there bump. After a second you gave me a tentative nod and mumbled, "I still am."

I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. You were finally talking about being pregnant beyond complaining about feeling sick. "I was scared too when I was pregnant," I said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. I wanted you to feel less alone.

"You didn't seem scared," you said, tucking your chin down and letting a frown ever so slightly crease your brow.

"I was scared," I assured you. "Excited too. But pretty darn scared."

You nodded, but your frown didn't lift.

Just then a nurse passed the room and happened to turn her head and look at us. "One person per bed," she instructed, halting in the doorway.

I sighed and patted your tummy before lifting myself out of the bed and sitting in the chair next to it. The nurse gave us a satisfied nod and continued on her way. I leaned forward and put my elbows on the mattress between the bars of the railing, gazing up at you. I was glad we were talking about your pregnancy.

But you seemed to be done talking.

"B, will you get me out of here? Tell them you're a nurse and you'll watch me and make sure I don't die." You rolled your eyes in annoyance at the hospital staff.

I looked at you in the hospital bed and felt a sudden urge to keep you there. This was the only place you'd talked about what's really going on; you're pregnant and you're terrified. You'd been ignoring the pregnancy so much that it became a medical issue when you passed out. I suddenly felt angry. It's my baby too and I want it to be safe. I want both of you to be safe.

"Only if you make me a promise," I said. I had a little bite in my voice, the same bite I use with patients who are trying to charm their way out of taking their medication.

"What?"

"Promise me you'll start acting like you're pregnant."

"You want me to start waddling everywhere?" you asked, trying to shrug off my request as a joke.

I raised an eyebrow at you. "I don't recall _waddling_ when I was pregnant. You said I was graceful."

You dropped the joke but kept your smile. "You were, B. You didn't waddle at all."

"So will you promise to slow down and start taking better care of yourself?"

You looked to the side and sighed.

"Santana..." I warned.

You looked back at me. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I promise."

"To?"

"I promise to start acting like I'm pregnant," you grumbled.

I eyed you for any indication you were just placating me before giving you a satisfied nod.

"Starting by insisting you go get me some chocolate pudding," you said, your eyes twinkling.

"Starting with eating a big, healthy dinner and going to bed early," I corrected.

You gave me a smile of defeat, letting me know you'd do as I'd requested. "Okay. So will you help me bust out of here?" you asked.

I gave you a nod and went to talk to the nurse. After explaining to me that you had fainted from a combination of exhaustion and low blood sugar, they released you.

As I opened the passenger door of the car to tuck you inside, I said, "I think we have some chocolate pudding in the back of the fridge."

As we drove home, you turned to me, suddenly cautious as you asked how my testimony had gone. My stomach dropped, remembering how I had completely ruined Julie's trial. I kept my eyes on the road and didn't say anything. In my panic about you and the baby, I had forgotten about my awful time on the witness stand. You leaned toward me and put your hand on my thigh.

"Hey," you said. "Tell me."

I took a deep breath and told you how awful Jeremy Baldwin had been and how I had said all the wrong things. I could feel you tensing, starting with your hands and creeping up your arms until your whole chest and head was about to burst with rage. You gasped and sputtered and a string of Spanish curse words came out of your mouth at lightening speed. I knew you'd be upset with me. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, cowering against the door in anticipation of your explosion. "I didn't realize he was asking me trick questions..."

"No!" you gasped, "you did what you were supposed to do, but that _dickhead_! I _knew_ I should have called you after my testimony and warned you about just how dirty he plays. I thought I'd get to the courthouse in time to tell you. _Dammit_, Santana..." You slammed your hands on the dashboard and I was startled. I started to think maybe I hadn't messed up as bad as I thought.

"Was he mean to you too?" I asked.

"He was nothing short of _revolting_ with me. Undressing me with his eyes and constantly referring to my "wife" with air quotes... Sweetheart, I am so sorry I wasn't there..."

I could hear your words punching around in your chest and I knew you were angry with yourself for being in the emergency room while I was testifying. I had been angry then too, but now I felt guilty for being angry. You would have been there if you could. And I was a little bit glad you'd been sent to the emergency room because it kind of woke you up and helped you face your pregnancy.

"Did you call him out on his ass-hattery?" I asked.

You shrugged. "I tried. The judge wasn't playing, though. If I were Julie's lawyer I'd push for mistrial because clearly Jeremy and the judge have some kind of alliance."

I bit my lip as I remembered the amused looks between Mr. Baldwin and the judge. It did seem wrong and unfair to Julie. "Julie's lawyer didn't do anything when Mr. Baldwin started saying nasty things about me," I said.

You sighed. "That's because he's an overworked public defender."

You stared through the windshield for a minute.

"Why didn't you offer to be Julie's lawyer?" I asked. Months ago, before we knew how grueling this process would be for her, you told me that you weren't the best person for the job. But surely you'd be better than Julie's current lawyer.

You pursed your lips. "I should have."

I nodded and watched the road. We were almost home. After a moment, I gave a small shrug. I wanted to make a suggestion, but only in a light way. "You still could, right?"

You dipped your head to the side. "Technically, yeah... but it's a terrible idea to switch lawyers mid-trial."

I nodded some more. I wasn't sure I wanted to suggest you taking on Julie's case, given that I had just made you promise to slow down. But I was feeling so sick about what had happened in the courtroom earlier, I wanted to do something to fix it. You're very good at fixing things.

I couldn't tell what you were thinking and I would have asked, but we had turned onto our street and I saw Hayley's car in our driveway. We went inside, prepared to soothe Caleb and assure both him and Hayley that everything was fine and it had just been a little adventure of an afternoon. I figured we would talk about Julie later, but you were tired and went to bed earlier than you had in a long time.

The next day you came home from work - at five thirty like you promised - and set your briefcase down. After slipping off your shoes, you glided over to me and cupped my face in your hands.

"I'm going to do it," you said. Your voice was a low murmur, as though you'd sat with the idea all day and finally arrived at a place of peaceful determination. "I'm going to offer to be Julie's official advocate."

A grin broke across my face for a moment, but then I eyed you over my smile. "While still acting like you're pregnant?"

"While still acting like I'm pregnant," you echoed.

I leaned forward and gave you a warm, tender kiss. "How?" I asked.

"I'll figure it out," you promised. "Denton and I reached out to Sasha to see if she wanted to come on board part time at Schneider and Hembraugh."

Sasha is your best friend from college and one of the smartest, funniest people I've ever met. She intimidates me, actually. I feel a little lost when she's around you, because I can't quite keep up with your conversation. That's how fast her mind works. She's the only friendship of yours I feel left out of, but it's okay. She's a good friend to you and challenges you to work really hard. Bringing her to Schneider and Hembraugh so you can advocate for Julie is a fantastic idea. And I'm sure you were also thinking she might be able to cover for you while you're on maternity leave.

But unfortunately your plan to help Julie never panned out. Only a few hours later we got a call from her saying she'd settled out of court. I watched your face fall and your head drop into your hands as she told us over speakerphone that she had agreed to drop the domestic violence charges in exchange for alimony and full legal and physical custody of Zoe. Her lawyer had advised it after Mr. Baldwin offered to leverage the domestic violence case with the divorce proceedings. Your voice wavered a bit as you congratulated her on being done with the court system, and I could tell you were really trying to be happy for her. She got what she wanted; she got out of her marriage and she got to keep Zoe as safe as possible. And you told me it was probably the best she could hope for given the terrible circumstances of that courtroom. But I knew from the sobbing I heard through the door of our guest bedroom where you went to "make some calls" later that night that you were beside yourself. You were angry at the court system for letting a guilty man walk away without consequences, and guilt-ridden that you hadn't done more to help Julie. But you _did_ help her, Santana. You were her level-headed friend who knew how to navigate the system. And best of all, you are someone she trusts, and that doesn't end with the trial. When someone's been hurt like Julie, trust doesn't come easy.

When you came to bed that night, I wrapped my arms around you and tried to send all my pride and awe into you. As upset as I was that Tim had walked out of court without reprimand, I was more upset by how hard you were taking it. You have such a big heart, Santana. When it gets snagged on someone and rips, the feelings that pour out are overwhelming and almost too precious to hold.

At work the next day, I was thinking about Julie and felt my chest start to sink. Even though I was glad the trial was over, I was conflicted about Julie's compromise too. I was relieved she got full custody of Zoe. From a mother's perspective, it seemed an overwhelming victory. But being around you and seeing Tim's cruiser pass our house on my way to work, I knew the situation wasn't ideal. Tim should have paid for what he had done, and I didn't want him living near us, especially after we had testified on Julie's behalf. I really wish Julie could have stayed in her house. But if I were her, I would never want to live in that house again. She deserves a fresh start. The reality of how little justice had been served and how little help Julie had received started to weigh on me. I must have been more obvious than I thought, because Arlene paused Jeopardy and turned to me and said, "You're sad."

I sat up a little straighter, surprised. "A little bit," I admitted.

"Tell me why," Arlene demanded.

I didn't know how much to say, so I just said, "My best friend is going through a really hard time and not very many people are there to help her."

"Did she fall down?" Arlene asked.

I wasn't sure if Arlene was literally asking if Julie had fallen, as if down a flight of stairs or in the shower as Arlene had done once, so I just said, "She got pushed."

Arlene nodded for a moment before saying, "It doesn't really matter how someone falls. What matters is getting back up. She's got you around. She'll be okay."

Arlene's moment of lucidity made my throat feel tight and my eyes start to water. I really hope you and I can help Julie get all the way back up. She has Zoe and soon she'll have a little bit of money, but she needs so much more than that.

Arlene turned back to the TV, unpausing Jeopardy. She may not have the best memory, but in this situation it was relieving. Hopefully my unprofessional disclosure would be quickly forgotten and I would be left with the little gem of faith she'd given me.

A week later, I was feeling much better about us and the baby. I tried not to bring it up too often, but every few days I'd ask how you were feeling about your pregnancy. You usually looked away and said, _the same_, but then I would take your hand and wait and you'd tell me one little worry; _did your legs cramp a lot when you were pregnant? Is the dark line under my belly button normal?_ My answer was always a yes, sometimes followed by a kiss or a squeeze of your hand. I was surprised you weren't reading a million books and websites, but after I checked a few for myself, I realized your lack of research was probably to protect yourself. All the information can be overwhelming and scary. So I refreshed my memory on all things pregnancy-related and eased your worries wherever I could. But you have enough worries to keep an entire army of people busy easing.

At dinner I watched what you ate. I didn't want to be too obvious that I was monitoring you. You're an adult and you can feed yourself. But you're also feeding our baby, so I let myself keep track of your intake of fats and proteins and vitamins. If I set out a little dish of vitamins in the morning, you'd take them. It was the first time in our relationship I could remember so overtly taking care of you and you leaning into me. I really liked it. It made me feel strong.

When you hit twelve weeks, the energy in the house shifted a little bit. You're still sick sometimes, but not as often, and you're eating better and have more energy. You seem more determined, resolved to the fact that you're actually pregnant. Now that the big miscarriage risk window has closed, you have a bit more tenacity about you. I even walked into the bedroom one Saturday afternoon during Caleb's nap to find you sitting on a pillow with your eyes closed, just breathing. It was an odd kind of peacefulness I don't see around you often. I stopped in my tracks, not wanting to shake you from your concentrated meditation.

Another afternoon when Caleb was napping, you let me take pictures. You put on yoga pants and held your arm over your naked breasts as I snapped pictures of you lying in our white sheets, your skin positively glowing against them. You were a little shy; you giggled between shots and asked if we should say a few words in memory of your abs. I was really happy you let me take those pictures; one time when you were in grad school I suggested doing tasteful nudes and your eyes bugged out of your head, telling me that would happen when hell froze over. I shrugged, not understanding what the big deal was. Now that you've worked in politics and are poised for a long and successful career, I guess I understand. But pregnancy photographs are different. You looked absolutely stunning, hair fanning out around you on a pillow as you curled into yourself, halfway on your side with one arm covering your breasts and the over cradling your beginner's bump. After I had set the camera down, I kissed your tummy until you started laughing and said, "okay, okay, that's enough. My lips are getting jealous." I kissed your mouth long and deep for a minute before you pulled away and settled your head on my shoulder. I snuggled into you and we had a moment of quiet before Caleb woke up and came in, asking for a snack.

When Caleb went to bed that night, you sat with me on the couch. I looked at you and your glow and wanted to do something romantic for you. But I didn't know exactly what you'd want; I would have loved to have sex with you, but you haven't been thrilled with the idea lately. So I went a different route. "Mothers' day is coming up," I murmured. "What do you want to do?"

You looked down at the carpet for a minute and tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. After a moment you looked back up at me, unsure, but brave. "I want to tell my mom," you murmured.

My chest tightened at the thought. I don't want your mom to take any joy out of celebrating Mothers' Day as a family. But I wanted to tell my mom on Mothers' Day too. I couldn't have it both ways. "I was thinking about telling my mom too," I admitted.

You gave me an excited smile. "She's going to freak out."

I nodded, but didn't smile. I'm pretty sure my mom's reaction will make your mom's worse in comparison and I don't want your feelings to be hurt by that. "Who do you want to tell first?" I asked.

Your forehead creased in thought. "I keep going back and forth," you said. "On one hand, telling your mom first might help me get through telling my mom. But if my mom doesn't take it well, it'll be nice to know that your mom will be excited. I don't know..."

I didn't think there was a right answer either. No matter what, telling your mom will be hard, and the fact that we'll be able to hear my mom's elated shrieking from fifty miles away actually makes it worse. But I knew that what I was looking forward to most was seeing your dad's face when we told him. Your father has the most gentle, beautiful way of celebrating our family, it makes my chest ache. Seeing the way he is now with Caleb and the way your eyes well up as you peer into Caleb's bedroom to spy on them reading books in the rocking chair, I can only imagine how overjoyed he will be to hear that we're expecting again. Even though my parents are vocal and demonstrative in their roles as proud grandparents, your father takes the cake for the most heart.

Two weeks later we were on our way to Lima, trying to pretend we weren't stiff with anxiety about our first stop at your parents' house to tell your mom.

"Maybe we should just not tell her until he or she is born and then make her guess who gave birth," you suggested, only half-joking.

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because- because I don't want her to treat this one differently," you said, glancing in the rearview mirror back at Caleb, who was eating slices of pear and looking out the window.

"You want her to ignore this one too?" I said with a wink.

You let out a pained giggle. "No, I just don't want her to get stuck on the biology of it."

I took your hand and squeezed. "I know, sweetie. But your mom doesn't have any say in how we define our family."

But an hour later when we were sitting on her couch, it sure felt like she did.

"Britt and I have some exciting news," you said, jiggling Caleb's hand as he sat in my lap. I was kind of relieved you were getting straight to the point.

"Oh?" your mom said as she set the vase of flowers we had brought her on the coffee table. I could hear she was feigning interest.

You nodded and tucked your lips between your teeth. You sat up a little straighter and put your hand on your stomach, looking down at it. When your hand helped define it, it was pretty clear you were pregnant. "We're expecting," you said with a nervous smile.

Your mom blinked a few times and opened her mouth. "I- I didn't know you wanted to have children," she sputtered.

I was so sad for you when she said that, and sad for Caleb too. She doesn't think of him as her grandson, and because of that she's missed out on his amazing little life and watching you grow into a fantastic mother. It hurts to hear her say things out loud that confirm that she doesn't understand how amazing you are.

You frowned at her, disappointed. "I already have a child," you said, nodding towards Caleb.

Caleb looked back and forth between you and your mom, obviously aware of the tension, but clearly not understanding the conversation. He wriggled out of my lap and dug in my purse to find a toy car I had stuck in there. He began wheeling it back and forth on the coffee table.

Your mom looked at Caleb and then back at you as she pursed her lips. "So- how pregnant are you?" she asked, as if the concept were confusing.

"All the way pregnant," you said, your smile returning. "It's not really a gray area." Your mother didn't get the joke, so you said, "I'm fourteen weeks."

For a moment your mother gazed at you, her expression softening from a stare to a look of reverence. "Do you- do you know the sex?" she asked.

You looked at me, unsure. We hadn't had this conversation yet. When I was pregnant with Caleb I insisted on waiting until he was born to know if he was a boy or a girl. It was a great motivator. But I am constantly reminding myself that your pregnancy is different than mine. I know you want to find out the sex as soon as they can get an accurate read. Knowing that we'll be happy no matter what, I'm okay with knowing the sex ahead of time. And I think knowing the sex will help make the pregnancy more concrete to you, which might encourage you to take better care of yourself.

"Not yet," I said, answering for you. "They can't get an accurate read until twenty weeks, so we'll know then. But as long as it's healthy, we're happy."

You gave me an adoring smile and nodded. "We just wanted to tell you. And bring you the flowers," you said, pointing towards the vase on the table. "I know you're busy, but I didn't want to just tell you over the phone." You were zipping yourself into your shell and moving towards leaving.

"But- wait," your mom said. "Does your father know?" She seemed almost saddened by the prospect of Antonio knowing before her. Thankfully we had planned our day trip to Lima strategically, starting with your mom, followed by lunch with your dad, ending at my parents' house, where we would tell my parents and Julie. Then we would let the babies - we still call them that even though Caleb turned two in March - play in the yard with Yoshi while the adults had cocktails, eventually ending with my dad firing up the barbecue and insisting we stay for dinner.

You shook your head. "We're meeting dad for lunch in a little while," you answered.

Your mom stifled a smile that she had been the first to know. I was glad we'd decided to tell her first. She was taking the news better than I expected. "Can I ask who...?" she said, trailing off.

You shook your head again, less apologetic and more firm. "We only know the ID number on the receipt at the CryoBank." You shrugged in a way that signaled the subject was closed for discussion. "Britt's the other parent. Just like I'm Caleb's other parent."

Your mom's gaze flitted to the car Caleb was running back and forth on the table as she processed what you'd said and tried to think of something to say. After a moment she looked back to you. "But... the baby's healthy? You're healthy?"

You gave her a calm, appreciative smile. "We're both great." You turned to me and put your hand on my knee. "Britt's taking very good care of us."

Your mom glanced at me, unsure what to say again. "When are you due?" she asked. I couldn't tell if she was anxious or excited. Probably both. Just like you.

"The dating scan said October tenth," you said, patting your belly with a nervous smile.

Your mom reflected your nervous smile back to you, giving a quick bob of her head. She didn't say anything more; there was no talk about baby showers or names or when we planned to tell Caleb. But I thought the conversation was going better than either of us expected. As if she knew she should quit while she was ahead, she leaned forward, like she was about to get up. "Well, your father will be very happy. I'm sure you don't want to be late to see him."

You nodded, understanding it was our cue to leave, and looking relieved for that. I picked up Caleb and you jiggled his hand, as if he were waving a little bit. You took a few awkward steps forward and gave your mom a hug. "Happy Mothers' Day, Ma," you murmured, patting her on the back a few times before parting. You adjusted your purse strap on your shoulder and smiled as we walked out the door and loaded back into the car. Once everyone was buckled, you took my hand and squeezed it, giving me a triumphant smile.

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><p>Just as I expected, telling your dad was beautiful and heart-wrenching. At first he was stunned, then his face broke out in a grin, then he put his hand tentatively on your belly as he blinked to fight back tears. I felt as though I were watching a silent movie, where the words didn't matter because the movements and the expressions said enough. The way he hugged you and rocked back and forth, unable to contain his tearful smile, was enough to make me cry. Then he picked up Caleb again, who had already gotten a big hug from 'Wello 'Tonio, and snuggled him harder, as if promising not to give him any less attention once there was another baby to love. I am absolutely certain your dad would have enough love to give and would make time to spend with each of our children if we had a thousand.<p>

When we got to my parents' house, we waited until Caleb went down for his afternoon nap before we shared our happy news. Telling my parents and Julie was like an unexpected Times Square New Year's Eve party. There was so much cheering and shrieking and clapping and kissing and laughing, I could almost hear fireworks and noisemakers. My mom hugged you to her chest, hogging you to herself and kissing your cheeks over and over as she started to cry hysterical, gasping tears. My sister jumped up and down and clapped, then covered her mouth as she watched my mom talking to you and touching your stomach and hugging you again. Julie gave me a big hug and then held me by the shoulders, saying she felt silly for not noticing and amazed I had kept it a secret for so long. I shrugged and said we hadn't told anyone until twelve weeks, even though we had already told Elinor - who had reacted almost exactly like my mom - and I had forced you to tell Denton after your fainting incident. The real reason I hadn't told Julie was because I feel guilty for having such happy news to share when she has so little joy in her life. But she was genuinely happy for us. I could tell by the way her eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled.

Soon my dad pried my mom off you and gave you a bear hug, rocking back and forth on his feet. Then, as expected, he declared we were all staying for dinner. Instantly, my mom flew into a tizzy of fussing over you, asking you what you wanted to eat and if you had any cravings and whether or not you were taking folic acid and if you wanted a homemade protein shake right in that very moment. You giggled and shrugged and twenty minutes later, my mom had seated you in the most comfortable chair on the deck, surrounded by extra cushions and a pregnancy snack selection that would have impressed a celebrity nutritionist. She made you a virgin daiquiri and you beamed back at me, giddy and grateful at my parents' reaction. Their joy reminded me just how much we have to look forward to.

My dad had just begun the ten-minute process of turning various knobs and frowning as he tried to fire up the monstrosity of a grill we gave him for his sixtieth birthday last year. He was using pseudo curse words like "what in tarnation is wrong with this thing?" and kept muttering in frustration, "God bless America..." We were all trying to contain our amused smiles when the doorbell rang. My mom perked up in her seat, looking surprised.

"Are you expecting someone, mom?" Hayley asked.

"I don't think so..." my mom said, looking around as she got up and opened the screen door, heading back through the house to the front door.

To both of our utter surprise, my mom came back out onto the deck a moment later, followed by none other than Dolores and Antonio Lopez.

"_Mom_," you said, shocked. You started to get up, but my mom instructed you to stay seated, as if the baby might fall out if you stood up.

Your mom looked nervously around at the people on the deck. She'd never met Hayley or Julie and I can't remember the last time she was around my parents. "Antonio said Santana was headed here after their lunch this afternoon and I figured - well - it's Mothers' Day." She didn't give any further explanation, but held up a bottle of wine to my mom.

Your dad set a wooden bowl full of what looked like pasta salad on the table. "Please tell us if we're intruding," he said.

"No, not at all!" my mom exclaimed, waving her hands in welcome. "We're glad to have you here. With the news we just got, I think the theme of the day is 'the more, the merrier,' right?"

Your mom gave her a tense smile before my mom went around introducing everyone. Yoshi took an interest in your mom and even jumped up at bit at her knees. She stifled a giggle and looked around the yard.

Your dad offered to help with the grill, and my dad begrudgingly accepted. It was a friendly gesture, after all. Your mom took a seat next to you, a bit stiff and not quite sure what to make of my mom, who was wearing a bright pink shirt and white capris - Memorial Day rules be damned, she said - and a visor to shield her face from the sun. Your mom made a few polite comments about my parents' yard and garden, and inquired about their line of work. She blinked a lot when my mom launched into talking about the church social committee, but after a while she started to smile, a relieved kind of smile that told me she was surprised my parents are pretty much normal.

It was so odd to see our families together. I couldn't remember the last time both our parents had been in the same room. It must have been at Back-to-School night in middle school or something. It was exciting, but I was pretty sure you were nervous and confused. At one point my mom got up to refill your mom's gin and tonic, and I actually saw your mom pat you on the hand. You smiled at her and then looked at me, positively beaming. I was so happy for you, I couldn't contain my grin. Your mom didn't talk directly to me or Hayley or Julie - I'm not sure she even knew who Julie was, despite the introduction - unless we responded to something she said, but when we did, she was polite. And most importantly, she was there. Sitting next to you, her pregnant daughter. On Mothers' Day.

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><p><strong>If you are so inclined, please leave a review!<strong>


	14. Bump

A/N: Before I forget, after this chapter, I'm taking a week (maybe two?) off to finish the purchasable version of TtLW. I will have information about that on my Tumblr for those who are interested. I'm also moving and saying goodbye to most of my clients, so there's a lot going on. Please be patient.

Thanks to youterriblemuriel, FrogsRcool, and Prairiejane for their fierce beta skills.

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><p><strong>Chapter 14 - Bump<strong>

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><p>Your mom's baby step towards seeing you as a mom had you on a high for a week. When you weren't throwing up, you were smiling and moving around the house and office with more energy than usual. You looked so bright and beautiful and your eyes and hair and skin were so shiny, I felt like someone put a little piece of the sun inside you and it was radiating out. Everyone wanted to be closer to you, especially me and Caleb. But Caleb got most of your attention. He got endless cuddles and I got quick hugs and pecks on the cheek as we passed each other in the morning and evening. I still really miss you, Santana. I miss feeling close like we did when Caleb was tiny and when I was pregnant. We were really close then.<p>

A few days before your sixteen week appointment, you came home with a smile even brighter than usual. Even Caleb noticed, because he put down his plastic spatula and looked up at you before smiling like a fool and hugging your leg as if he would never let go. "Happy Mama," he declared.

You giggled and reached down to rub his back a few times as you pulled a bottle of alcohol-free wine out of your purse. "Very Happy Mama," you echoed, extending your arm to set the wine on the hall table.

I walked toward you, drying my hands on the thighs of my jeans as I gave you a curious smile and hugged you. "Why is Mama so happy?" I asked, kissing you on the cheek. You pecked me back before squatting down to look Caleb in the eye.

"Mama is happy because she heard today that she's been selected to serve on the Board of Directors for the Domestic Peace Center!" you chirped. Caleb didn't understand what you were saying, but he stuck two fingers in his mouth and grinned at you. "Yayyy!" you said, trying to prompting him to clap or echo your enthusiasm. Instead he just lifted his arms and hugged you around the neck. You teetered a bit on your heels, unsteady as you crouched, but you quickly steadied yourself with one knee on the ground, glancing up at me with an _oof_ before wrapping your arms around Caleb and murmuring, _I missed you today, buddy_.

I knew what you were doing. You were telling Caleb you had taken on a big volunteer project so you wouldn't have to tell me directly and I couldn't start voicing my doubts and anxieties as fiercely as they had come on. Because the second I heard you say you had been selected to serve on a non profit board - and _come on_, of _course_ you'd been selected, with your legal training, bilinguality, and work ethic - I started to get frustrated. You promised me you'd slow down. Taking on board service in your second trimester is _not_ slowing down.

But you had purposely put our son between us so I couldn't launch into criticizing your decision as vehemently as I wanted to.

"Board service, huh?" I started.

"Yup. Meetings are just once a month," you said, already defensive as you gave Caleb a hug that was longer and more forced than usual.

"And what about other stuff besides meetings?" I asked. I tried to make it sound like I was just curious, but we both knew that wasn't why I was asking.

"It shouldn't be too bad," you deflected. "I can do it on my lunch break at work."

I hummed. I was mad you weren't letting us have a real conversation about it. I don't know much about board service, but I know they don't select young lawyers for figurehead positions. Even lawyers who helped write a fantastic piece of legislation. They select lawyers so they have legal consultation, even if it's unofficial. And the last thing you need is more work.

"Santana..." I said, my voice low and indicating you should have talked to me before applying, or at least accepting a position. You're already gone so much and Caleb and I miss you.

"We'll talk about it later," you dismissed. "Right now Mama wants kisses."

At that Caleb leaned slowly forward, mouth a bit parted as he placed his lips against your cheek. Then he pulled back and gave you a bashful grin. You smiled back at him and gave him a dozen kisses peppered all over his face. I turned back to the kitchen and let you continue your dramatic greeting of our son. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I was starting to get jealous of him. I don't feel like I should have to ask my wife for kisses. And yet I do.

After Caleb went to bed that night, you went into your office and shut the door. I wasn't sure if I should knock and go in and talk to you. I probably should have. But sometimes you need to sit with something for a while before we can have a productive conversation. The problem is that I usually wait too long, and by then there's too much damage done. Either that or it's just easier to walk away and pretend we're in a movie where things never go wrong.

After a while I stopped being mad and started getting anxious. Why were you hiding for so long? Is it really so scary for you to talk to your wife when we might disagree? I got so confused and flustered I sorted all the shoes in the entryway and went into the garage to look for something but forgot what it was.

At ten o'clock I decided you were definitely hiding because you were afraid of my anger. I wanted you to come out of the office so you could see I wasn't raging and we could talk. I went downstairs and made you a snack: a plate of almonds and blueberries and a strawberry peach smoothie. That would show you I wasn't going to yell, right? It's so confusing for me to be upset about something but also know you needed to be taken care of. I couldn't hold being angry and protective all in my head. It was too much.

I forgot to knock before I opened your office door - definitely a mistake - and you startled a bit when I walked in. I didn't mean to scare you. But you were definitely scared. Then you turned back to your laptop.

"I'm almost done," you mumbled. "Then I'll go to bed."

"I'm not here to enforce a curfew," I said with a shrug. I was careful to keep my voice on the loving side rather than the frustrated side. The little bump that sat in your lap at your desk chair, growing bigger by the day, made me feel guilty about being angry with you. "I just wanted to bring you a snack."

You bit your lips before mumbling, "Thanks." You make a few more clicks with your mouse and glanced at the plate I had set next to you. You didn't eat it.

I wasn't sure what to do, so I just stood there. After a few more uncomfortable seconds of silence, you picked up an almond and put it in your mouth.

I wanted you to remember that you're not just feeding yourself, you're nourishing a baby. _Our_ baby. Sometimes I think you forget that you're more than just a transportation pod. Right now you are all this baby has. Without you, he or she can't survive.

"The eyelashes are growing in this week," I said, hoping we could talk about your pregnancy a little bit. My voice sounded hopeful but unsure.

You nodded and kept your eyes on the screen. "And the inner ear bones are developing. So he or she might be able to hear us now."

"Yeah," I murmured. "And tastebuds."

You grunted a little. "No wonder there's been so much kicking whenever I eat. My heartburn has been out of control." You still weren't looking at me and your voice was starting to get snappy and mean.

"Do you want something for it?" I offered. I was trying to be gentle. I really wanted you to talk to me.

"I'm fine," you grumbled.

You had shut me down, but I wanted to try to connect, at least a little. I know your back has been hurting nonstop for the past month. "How about a backrub? Or a bath?"

"No thanks, I'll use the heating pad."

You were really short with me and I didn't understand why. I know you can be grumpy when you don't feel good. But your snappiness made me feel like I had done something wrong. _Had_ I done something wrong? I tried to think. I'd just been home with Caleb all day. I made dinner that you hadn't had trouble eating. I don't think I'd said anything wrong. I started to feel crazy, like there was something really obvious I had done to make you angry and I just couldn't remember. I didn't like feeling that way, so I just mumbled, "Let me know if you need anything," and left the room. When I got halfway down the hall, I heard you call, "Can you close the door?" so I went back and shut it quietly.

I stopped right outside Caleb's door. I pressed my ear against the white paint, hoping I could hear the soothing sound of his breathing. Since he doesn't need a baby monitor anymore, we don't use one. That sound used to soothe me so much, and I needed something soothing right now. When you put up all your walls and I have no idea why, I get very scared. I don't like being shut out and alone.

Since you said you weren't going to take one, I drew myself a bath. I thought about putting bubbles in, but we were almost out and I didn't want Caleb to be sad if he asked for bubbles tomorrow and we were all out. So I just put a little bit of lavender oil in and sat with my knees hugged to my chest in the blinding whiteness of the bathroom while the tub slowly filled around me. Despite the steam rising, I felt cold until the water was halfway up my shins. Then I lay down and tried to let the water loosen the tightness in my stomach and shoulders. But it wasn't quite hot enough and after ten minutes I gave up. I put on my pajamas and got in bed.

I lay there, halfway between waking and sleep. I couldn't fall all the way asleep when I didn't know what was going on with you. I tried to think of how I felt at sixteen weeks. My back hurt a lot too, but using the body pillow you got me really helped. The body pillow! I knew exactly where it was because I had seen it when I was wandering in the garage earlier. I shook myself more awake and tiptoed downstairs to get it. I found the pillow and took it out of the plastic bag and fluffed it up. As I walked back upstairs, I could still see the faint glow of the desk lamp from under your office door. I tried not to be irritated you weren't already asleep - it was almost midnight - and went back into the bedroom. I set the body pillow on your side of the bed and got back under the covers, which were still pretty warm from when I had left just a minute ago. I tried to fall asleep, but it was hard. Finally you came into the bedroom and quietly put on your pajamas and brushed your teeth. You slid into the bed next to me and I felt the body pillow nudge up against my back. When I slowly turned my head to look at you, I saw you weren't even touching it. You were lying facing away from me towards the bathroom door.

It took me ages to fall asleep.

The next day you overslept and were so frantic in the morning, I hardly saw the whites of your eyes before the front door shut behind you as you muttered a quick "thanks" for the tupperware of breakfast I'd made for you. I texted you to ask if you'd be home in time for dinner with me and Caleb, and you just texted back "I don't know." I finished getting Caleb ready for school and filled the crock pot with your favorite stew ingredients. Just in case.

Work felt endless that day. Arlene was grumpy because her health and memory has been rapidly declining. She gets frustrated with herself when she can't remember little things and I've even had to stop her from hurting herself a few times. I used to be able to calm her down with a cup of tea and a puzzle, but that didn't work as well as it used to. When she got frustrated trying to find where one piece went, she shoved the whole puzzle off the table like Caleb did before you realized he's too little for puzzles. Only Arlene was frustrated, not disinterested like Caleb. I was relieved when Arlene's daughter arrived an hour and a half before my shift ended and offered to take over. I decided to run home and check the crock pot and change out of my scrubs before going to pick Caleb up from school.

As I pulled up to our house, I was surprised to see your car in the driveway. At first I was concerned and my first instinct was to call out for you as I walked in. But then I thought - hoped - that you were sleeping and decided to be as quiet as I could. Sniffing the air that was ripe with the smell of stew, I set down my keys and purse on the carpet where they wouldn't make noise and tiptoed into the kitchen. The crock pot was bubbling and I could tell it would be just right by the time we were ready to eat in a few hours.

I walked up the stairs, remembering how Caleb and I play the "don't wake Mama up" game on the weekends so you can sleep in. It's more fun to play that game when he's around. As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw all the doors that had been closed the night before - the office, Caleb's room, the guest room - were open now, but ours was shut. Being careful not to rattle the handle, I twisted our doorknob. Just as I expected, you were in bed. But what I was not expecting was to see one of your hands down your pants and the other one up your shirt. Not that I minded at all.

I've always liked touching myself. I love when you touch me too, of course, but it's different. When I touch myself, it's just about feeling good and relaxing and taking care of myself, kind of like taking a hot bath or going for a walk to clear my head. I've done it since I was pretty young, and always enjoyed it. But you weren't always so comfortable with it. One time in college you came back to our dorm room and found me having "alone time" in our bed and started freaking out, asking what I needed from you to feel satisfied. I was confused; you've always satisfied me. But having sex with you isn't the same as going for a walk or taking a bath. Having sex with you is about me and you. Alone time is about just me. I need both. When I had asked if you ever touched yourself, you bit your lip and looked to the side and admitted you had once, but stopped because you felt bad doing it without me. That prompted me to encourage you to touch yourself whenever you wanted; I wouldn't mind. A month or two later I walked into our room and you were laying on the bed, head tipped back with your hand down your sweats. It was so sexy, I couldn't take my eyes off you, but I didn't know if I should stay or go. I decided I should go, but as I turned and reached for the doorknob, you grunted _stay_. So I did. I sat and watched you and it was one of the hottest things I've ever seen. Since then, we've had no qualms about having "alone time" whenever we need it. Sometimes after dinner I'll clear the plates and tell you I'm going to have _alone time_ in the spare bedroom and you wink back at me and tell me to have fun. _Or_ you ask if I can wait until Caleb goes to bed and we can have _not_-alone time. Sometimes I say I'll wait and sometimes I suggest an alternative for us to connect. For the most part over the past decade, we've had a healthy balance, though it certainly waxes and wanes.

But seeing you touch yourself when you'd refused to be intimate with me since we found out you're pregnant felt different. It made me wonder if you really felt as tired and sick as you claim to feel whenever I rub your side or move my lips down your neck or, if I'm feeling bold, cup your breast. Seeing you touch yourself now felt like, for the first time, a betrayal. My hand slipped off the doorknob and it rattled at the release.

The second you heard the doorknob, you gasped and rolled onto your side, curling into yourself as you faced away from me. It looked as if you thought moving fast enough would hide what you'd been doing from me. You've never hidden from me before. That made it hurt even more. My hand darted out for the doorknob again and I closed the door so quickly it almost sounded like a slam. I didn't mean to slam the door, Santana. I'm sorry.

I quickly ran down the stairs and after looking around as if there was something I was supposed to do, I bent down and picked up my purse and keys. Even though I would be an hour early, I decided to go get Caleb.

Caleb was happy to see me. It's nice that he's so consistently cheerful when he sees me come through the door. He's kind of like a puppy in that way. Because we were running early and I had no idea what to expect when we got home, I took him to the park and we went on the swings together. He's almost too big to fit in my lap now, and the chains cut into my hips as I try to pump my legs so we can go "higher, Mom-ny!" But I love the feel of him in my lap and the sheer joy he gets out of the wind rushing through our hair as we swing like a pendulum back and forth.

Long after my arms and legs were sore from swinging, he declared he was done. I offered to play in the sandbox with him, but he just shook his head and said "home." I nodded and took his hand as he led me back to the car. I hoisted him in and helped him with the buckles on his carseat before pulling out of our parking spot. I was about to ask if we should stop at the store for mac 'n cheese when I remembered I had made stew for us. It was probably a lame stalling tactic anyway.

When we got home, Caleb barely caught a whiff of the stew before he started grinning and muttering "yum, yum, yum." He set his lunchbox on the sofa, where he knows it doesn't belong, and didn't even take off his sweater before trying to climb into his booster seat at the table. He can't quite do it yet, and I always want him to try challenging things so he can realize he's capable of doing a lot, but I was worried he'd fall and hit his head, so I put my hand under his butt and helped him up. When he was seated safely, he patted his thighs, signalling he wanted me to put the tray in and feed him.

"Hang in there, buddy, let me get Mama and make sure the stew isn't too hot."

He nodded, but his smile faded a bit, clearly not pleased that he would have to wait to eat. I love that he has such a great appetite and tries so many foods. I think that's why he's so healthy.

I walked up the stairs to get you. I was sure to make some noise so I wouldn't surprise you like before. When you weren't in the bedroom - why would you be? I'd left an hour ago - I knocked on your office and you invited me in. You actually looked back at me for a second before refocusing on your computer screen. You didn't greet me.

"Caleb and I are starting dinner," I said.

"Okay," you responded.

There was silence.

"Do you want to eat with us?" I asked. My voice sounded really small. I didn't like it.

"I think I'll eat up here and then spend time with Caleb while he takes his bath," you said.

That made my chest sink right back to the place it had been before I picked up Caleb. I don't know what I did wrong, Santana. I need you to tell me.

As I walked down the stairs, I tried to hold my head up and my shoulders back so Caleb wouldn't know I was upset. I spooned up three bowls of stew and kept my back to him as much as I could. Fortunately he was so preoccupied with his food while we ate that he didn't seem to notice. I took your bowl to you and only got a grunt of thanks.

You gave Caleb his bath and spent longer than ever reading to him. You must have read every book in his little library to him. I sat in the hallway outside his room and listened to your voice, the musical lilting of each phrase as you lulled him to sleep with a drowsy Spanish translation of _Heraldo Y El Crayón Morado_. He probably fell asleep while you were reading, because by the time I heard you turn on his white noise machine, it was already eight o'clock, well past his bedtime.

When you opened the door and stepped into the hallway, you startled a little bit when you saw me sitting there. I gave you a hesitant smile. I love that you are so gentle and nurturing with our son. I wish you would let me be the same way with you.

"Hi," I whispered.

"Hi," you said. You looked nervous.

My stomach tightened and my hands felt freezing as I took a deep breath and whispered, "Can we talk?"

You pursed your lips and glanced to the side. "I have work to do," you mumbled.

My shoulders drooped. "Okay. Can I have five minutes?"

You took a breath and nodded and I was relieved. But then I felt nervous again, because actually talking takes more effort and feels like a bigger risk than just being quiet.

"Where do you want to talk?" you asked.

I was about to say our bedroom but then I remembered walking in there to find you having alone time and decided that wasn't the best place. I looked up and down the hall before suggesting the guest room. You nodded and walked ahead of me, turning on the light and standing next to the bed while I shut the door and turned to face you. Suddenly I regretted asking to talk because I didn't know where to start. With the board service? With you not talking to me? With the baby? With you touching yourself? With your work hours? With my own work issues? There were so many things I wanted to talk about and they all seemed important. I needed more than five minutes. I think we both knew that.

"It didn't mean anything," you mumbled, looking at the flowers on the bedspread of the daybed against the window. "I just wanted to relieve some tension."

I nodded. "I know. It's fine." It wasn't fine. You were acting weird about it. If you hadn't rolled over and pretended you weren't touching yourself, it would have been fine. But that seemed the scariest thing to talk about first. I decided to just say what I'd been wondering since the night before. "Did I do something wrong?"

You looked up at me with a little frown. "No."

Now I was even more confused. "Okay..."

"I'm just really stressed."

I nodded. I think I nod a lot because it gives me time to think without just staring. Staring makes it seem like I'm not trying to understand, and I really want to understand. There are so many things you could be stressed about, and I had no idea which one it was right then. It could have been work, your pregnancy, the board, Julie, Caleb, your parents, or me. I really hoped it was me so I could do something quickly to fix it. But part of me also hoped it was your pregnancy and we could talk about it.

"About the baby?" I asked.

You shrugged one shoulder and I could see in that movement just how tense you were. "Yeah, kind of."

That meant there was more, but you weren't talking.

"Did this afternoon help?" I know it was risky to bring up your _alone time_, but I had nothing else to grab onto.

You shrugged the same shoulder up a little higher and there was a moment of eerie quiet before I saw you blinking faster than usual. I leaned forward to see your face clearer, and before I knew what was happening, you lifted your hand to wipe under your eye with just two fingers. You were crying.

I took a step forward. I was even more worried, because I had forced you to talk and now you were crying and I had no idea why. "What? What's wrong?" I asked. My words were rushed and breathy and I sounded as panicked as I felt. I took a few steps forward but didn't touch you.

You covered your face with your hands and I saw your temples scrunch up as your started to shake a bit with tears. After a few gasping breaths you squeaked out, "_It doesn't work!_"

I could feel you were relieved to tell me, but I didn't understand what you meant. "What doesn't work?" I asked. I lifted my hands to touch you but I wasn't sure how you'd want to be held. Or _if_ you'd want to be held.

"_Alone time_," you said, your voice shaking. "I can't finish."

Sometimes I think it's funny that we're thirty and we still call masturbation "alone time," especially given all the things we've tried together since the first time we had sex fifteen years ago. But hearing you say _alone time_ in your crying, frustrated voice just broke my heart. You sounded like the scared teenage girl I fell in love with. I couldn't bear to hear that voice, so I wrapped my arms around you. You shrunk further into yourself when I did that, but I held you tight.

"Today?" I asked.

You nodded against my shoulder and let out a shaky breath. But then your breath hitched again and I knew there was more. "No," you admitted. "Not just today."

"How long?" I asked.

"Two months," you squeaked.

I couldn't help myself from gasping, "_Two_ _months_?" I knew it had been a long time since we'd had sex together, but the just the thought of going that long without _any_ kind of release made me feel tense.

You shook a little harder and pressed your forehead into my shoulder. "I don't know what's wrong with me! I'm horny all the time and I can't do anything about it!"

That made my chest ache. I remember how horny I was in my second trimester. You had been hesitant to be as rough as I wanted you to be, but we had a lot of fun those few months. Hearing that you couldn't have the same experience made me sad. I held you tighter and pressed my lips into your hair. "What have you tried?" I murmured.

You coughed a little bit and it steadied your voice. "I don't know. The usual."

"Just your hand?" I asked.

You nodded. That gave me a lot of hope. There were plenty of other things we could try. I made sure my words were gentle. "What about a vibrator?"

You took a deep breath. After a moment you said in a very quiet voice, "I didn't try."

I rubbed your back. "Why not, sweetie?"

You paused again. "I didn't think of it until the other day. And then I didn't want to because that meant that your fingers or tongue wouldn't work and I don't want to... to..." you choked up and trailed off and I wasn't exactly sure what you were going to say, but I knew that you were worried about us not having sex too. Maybe in a different way, but you were worried.

I kissed your hair. I wanted to smoothe out every tense muscle and dry every tear. "Do you want to try it?"

You squeaked a little bit and said, "I don't know."

I was pretty sure that meant yes, but you were having a hard time with the thought of being sexual. I didn't know if that was about me or your pregnancy or your stress, and I didn't want to ask. I just wanted to fix it. "Let's go in our bedroom," I offered. I didn't try to make it sound sexy. I just made it gentle and loving.

"I don't feel sexy," you sighed. "I just feel frustrated."

I rubbed your back some more. "I think you're sexy."

You pressed your forehead harder against me and sniffled. "Okay," you said. I wasn't sure if you meant _okay I'm sexy_ or _okay let's try_, but I decided probably a little of both. I slid my arms down your back and over your butt as I loosened my grasp and eventually led you to the bedroom.

You stopped in the middle of the room and eyed the bed, your expression unsure. "Britt, I don't know... it probably won't work. And I'm spotting, so I don't want to make a mess..."

I put my hand on the small of your back and coaxed you towards the bed. It was a bit funny to me that you brought up your spotting. It's normal and I spotted during my pregnancy too. It was never an issue in the bedroom then. When we were young, you were totally weirded out by the idea of any liquid that wasn't clear being involved in our sweet lady kisses, but as we tried new things and took more risks together, you warmed to the idea. Now it hardly phases you. So I had no idea why you were bringing it up.

"Do you want to use the bathtub?" I offered. That way you wouldn't feel messy. But you shook your head.

"It's not too bad," you said, shrugging as you edged towards the bed.

I nodded and crouched at the side of the bed, pulling out the toy box we keep underneath. Once Caleb started walking, you insisted we get a box that locked in case he ever got curious. I rolled my eyes but agreed, and we ordered a nice little box that looks like a miniature treasure chest, but it's pink and has sparkly silver metalwork around the corners and edges. It's so obviously a sex toy box that we would have been better off with a cardboard box labeled _Taxes 2017_. That would have been way less interesting to Caleb or anyone else who found it. And in addition to being ridiculously obvious, now we have to fish through the drawer of my bedside table to find the key whenever we want to open the box, which sometimes takes a minute and during that minute, things cool down. So overall I am not a fan of the box.

Once I got the Liberachi-inspired box open, I sifted through our collection. We have a lot to choose from, but we don't use most of our toys often. We tend to stick with the strap on - with different size attachments for each of us - and the silk ties that double as blindfolds, and sometimes nipple clips or handcuffs. But really, we don't use toys as often as we thought we would when we bought each item. I think it's because I really love when it's just me and you. And I think you love that too.

While I searched for a vibrator I thought might do the trick, you locked the door and took off your clothes. You undressed almost timidly, as if I hadn't seen you naked in the shower the other morning. It was probably because you felt very exposed now that you'd told me what was happening. But I was so glad you told me. I thought I was losing you, at least a little bit.

I found a vibrator I bought when you moved to Columbus to take a job and I needed something to get the job done quickly and quietly while I lived with my parents. It's about the size of a roll of quarters and is just plain white plastic with metal studs on the end. It's basic and unassuming, but it got the job done quickly. It's more powerful than it looks. I thought maybe it was just right for you.

Once you were in your underwear, you sat on the edge of the bed. I set the vibrator on the bedside table and stripped completely. I knelt next to you and gave you a confident smile before leaning up to kiss you. Without even realizing what I was doing, I slid my hands around your waist the widest part of your bump and ran my hands up and down your sides.

Your bump at sixteen weeks is absolutely adorable. It's not totally rounded, and if the rest of you weren't so skinny and muscular, people might not realize you're pregnant. It's kind of a bulge at this point, and it's not totally smooth. A week ago I walked into the bathroom and saw you frowning at yourself. "I look kind of lumpy," you said. I put my arm around your shoulder and kissed your cheek. You did look kind of lumpy, but not in a bad way. Just a normal pregnant way. The second trimester is a bit lumpy. "At least this way we know you're not giving birth to a bowling ball, huh?"

But when my hands drifted to the front of your bump this time, you stiffened. I was about to ask what was wrong when you said through your teeth, "I feel weird."

I tipped my head to the side. "Because of the baby?" I asked.

You looked at the carpet and nodded. I remember you were so hesitant to touch me when I was pregnant, even though I could tell you wanted to. Eventually you admitted to me - even though it was a whisper - that you think pregnant women are really sexy. And I do too. Especially _my_ pregnant woman. The fact that you volunteered to carry our baby is really sexy to me.

"What do you need?" I asked. "To feel less weird."

You gave me a defeated shrug. "To feel less pregnant," you mumbled.

I bit my lip and nodded. I don't know how to make anyone feel less pregnant. But I could try to distract you from your pregnancy. Maybe that would work.

I crawled onto the bed and sat cross legged in the middle. I patted the sheet in front of me. "Come sit," I said.

You turned and hoisted your legs onto the bed before facing me and sitting cross legged as well. I saw your eyes flit down to my open center before meeting my gaze again.

"Do you want to take your underwear off too?" I asked.

Your eyes drifted down and to the side, which meant you were anxious or embarrassed, but you said _sure_. You reached behind your back to unclasp your bra, but as you did, I reached forward and touched your arm.

"Wait," I said. "Nevermind. Just sit for a minute."

You looked relieved and brought your hand back to your lap. I scooted forward until our knees were touching. Then I unfolded my legs and scooted even closer, threading my legs between your arms and sides and wiggling until I felt my butt rest against your shins. I smiled at you and put my hands on your shoulders. It was like I was hugging you with my arms and legs at the same time.

"Right now I just want to see you," I whispered.

You nodded and looked into my eyes. But you didn't just look. You stared at me and even when I saw your eyes flicker with uncertainty, you stayed locked into me. Looking into your dark, shining eyes, I saw pools of every feeling you'd had in the past few days. Fear, hurt, anger, uncertainty, frustration, and love. I think love is what keeps us locked on when the other feelings wage war.

I started to run my hands up and down your arms, coaxing you, calming you. As I warmed you, I saw the other feelings start to fade and the love took over. Your face relaxed from a look of uncertainty to a look of calm. A gentle smile washed over you and I felt your shoulders loosen. After another minute - or maybe it was five or twenty - I saw you start to nod. You were so relaxed you had to clear your throat to speak. "Okay," you said. "I'm ready."

I nodded back and echoed your _okay_.

I shimmied back and helped you take off your underwear, being careful to maintain eye contact and not draw your attention to your tummy. I was worried touching it would break the spell. I kept my hands on your arms and neck and face and when you were naked, I pulled myself forward to kiss you.

If I hadn't been relaxed before, that kiss worked like a drug to release any tension I had. I felt connected to you again. We weren't shutting doors or doing work or placing Caleb between us. We were open to each other in a world that was trying to crowd us.

I knew you weren't going to take the lead. You only do that when you're really feisty and wanting to mix things up. But I was cautious not to push too quickly, to take an extra moment to read each breath and shiver and caress of your hand on my back as I kissed down your jaw to your neck. I knew you were ready for me to forge ahead when your hand tensed on my back and you pulled me down with you, lying side by side in our sheets as I nipped and licked at the hollow of your neck.

I was surprised when you took my wrist and guided my hand up your leg. After feeling the smooth muscle of your inner thigh for a moment, I slid my fingers up through you. We were very warm and wet and I felt you flinch at my touch. I worked through you until you were panting.

"It's not gonna... it's not gonna work, Britt," you said, cringing. "I get here and then I just _stay_ here," you panted.

I hushed into your ear and twisted around to get the vibrator. I had to take my hand away from you to pick it up, and I saw a few faint streaks of brownish red on my fingers, but nothing dramatic. It smudged against the vibrator as I twisted it on and handed it back to you.

"Just try it," I murmured.

You gave me a pained smile and took it from me as I started touching you again. You lowered it to your clit and I slid my fingers inside you, prepared to wait for cues from you about how much movement you wanted. I kept my face buried against you, kissing you, humming, and encouraging you with every touch.

When you felt the first vibrations against your center, you shuddered a bit. You'd never used this particular toy, and the others we have aren't as powerful or direct. I could tell you were surprised.

"Feel good?" I mumbled into your ear.

You exhaled and nodded against my face. I cautiously slid my fingers out and back in, but as I did, you caught my wrist with your free hand and stilled it. I kept my hand still and focused on covering your neck and cheek and ear and jaw with kisses.

I felt you tensing around my fingers quickly. You had been at a frustrating plateau before, but now you were climbing again. I felt your breath start to halt and then rush out ragged and I knew you were trying to push yourself. I felt your wrist angling the vibrator into slightly different angles, hoping to find the magic spot that would catapult you into a much-needed release. You took a few gulping breaths and I felt my knuckles squeezed against each other inside you. I ran my tongue over your ear and bit down and felt you arch against me, mouth opening and eyes slamming shut. Your hips angled down and you let out a noise that started as a groan and became a cry of relief. You even cursed a bit, which you only do when it's really good.

Soon you jerked the vibrator away and your legs clamped around my wrist as you shivered. "_Fuck_..." you gasped. A smile spread across your face and I couldn't help but grin back. I hadn't seen you that happy or relaxed in months. I watched you come down, feeling the pulses around my fingers, and when your breathing was halfway settled I slid them out and wrapped my arms around you.

"Feel good?" I asked.

You nodded and exhaled. "Definitely. I cannot tell you how much I needed that."

I know you were talking about an orgasm, but I had really needed to be close to you, so I said, "Me too."

"You want to go?" you asked, opening your eyes.

I shook my head against the pillow. "I just want to take care of you. I want you to let me."

You smiled at me. "Can I have a piece of the leftover cake from Danielle's birthday?" you asked, your words starting to slur together in your sleepy haze. "The frosting is really good..."

I nodded and gave you a squeeze before getting up to go downstairs. Somehow, being asked to get a piece of cake felt like a big victory. When I brought it upstairs, I put the plate on your tummy. You giggled and it wobbled. You took your fork and we both took bites, though yours were twice as big as mine.

"So baby likes cake, huh?" I said after you took a bite that was so big frosting got smeared on your chin.

You nodded and laughed. "Mostly frosting. All kinds."

After that we started having sex a little more often. You were always sheepish when I got the vibrator out, but that was preferable to the frustration and self-blame you put yourself through when we didn't use it. Getting our sex life back on track made room for other things too. We talked about you serving on the board of the Domestic Peace Center, and even though I wasn't happy about it, you were more open to compromise. You agreed to negotiate to work from home one day a week, giving us more time together and you a chance to sleep in and fill up with healthy meals and snacks throughout the day. I tried to keep Caleb from running into your office on every whim, but after a little while I realized it was a good thing when he did. You would take a break to play with him for a few minutes, and I think those breaks helped you stay in touch with your own needs and why you're doing this amazing thing for our family.

I felt you tensing a bit towards our twenty week appointment. Even though having sex and alone time with more success now meant your overall anxiety was lower, you still had a lot of worries. Twenty weeks is the big appointment; the second ultrasound to find out if the baby is developing on schedule, to measure how big he or she is, and, most excitingly, they can determine the sex. I held your hand through the bloodwork - that's still really hard for you - and made jokes about drug testing when you had to pee in a cup. You frowned and told me it wasn't funny to joke about drug testing a pregnant lady. You're probably right. It's not funny, I just wanted you to laugh.

When we heard the baby's heartbeat for the first time together, I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. I felt so close to you, I wanted to bend over that table and smother you with kisses. The technician told us that the baby was on the small side, but was developing normally and from what he could see, there were no reasons to be concerned, though we should wait until your bloodwork came back to relax completely. We looked at the three dimensional ultrasound and I was just as astonished as with Caleb; we could see the creases in the baby's eyelids and the curl of each finger and the puffy sections of umbilical cord floating from its tummy. Once we were done ooing and ahhing over each little feature, the technician gave us a smug smile and asked if we wanted to know the sex.

You glanced at me and, seeing my smile, nodded back with a serious, eager face.

His grin grew wider and he said matter-of-factly, "It's a girl."

We always said as long as our baby is healthy, we wouldn't care if we had a boy or a girl, so it seemed normal when you just bobbed your head and pursed your lips.

But as soon as the technician left, your shoulders curled in and you held your hand up to your forehead, shaking a little bit. You've been more emotional lately, but that's to be expected. I was way more emotional when we were expecting Caleb. I was looking forward to that with you with your pregnancy. You're always so poised and steady with me. Of course the big things get you worked up - difficult cases and Caleb's milestones - but on a day-to-day basis, you're pretty even. But I love your feelings when you show them. It's another thing you keep just for me.

But when you curled into yourself after the technician left, I was confused. He had told us everything looked good and you were feeling okay. I froze because I didn't know why you were upset when I felt so great. We were going to have another baby. We were going to have everything we ever wanted.

I hugged you because usually that worked. I wrapped my arms around you and spoke into your hair. "Baby, what's wrong?"

You shook for a few moments longer before you sucked air in so you could talk. Your words were so soggy I could hardly understand when you squeaked out, _I really wanted a girl_.

And then I realized you were crying happy tears and I couldn't help but cry with you. I buried my face in your hair and I hope you felt the tears that trickled down. Knowing you were so happy made me overjoyed.


	15. Guardian

**A/N: I'm back! I wasn't sure if I'd be posting this week, but I got super inspired on Friday.**

**I got inspired by the new Alanis Morissette song as I was writing and her new song "Guardian" is perfect for this chapter. I'm not doing soundtracks like I did for TtLW, but that's a good one for this chapter.**

**Speaking of TtLW, still working on that. But it WILL happen!**

**Thanks to terriblemuriel and PrairieJane for being badass betas.**

**Enjoy! And if you do, please review. The fandom has gotten quiet since the finale and I like to know there are real people reading!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 15 - Guardian<strong>

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><p>The day after we found out we were having a girl, Julie called to tell me she had good news. She was excited, but I could hear she was scared too. She always sounds scared, though. At least in the past year. I think I'd sound scared all the time too if I had Julie's life. But thankfully I don't have Julie's life. I have my life with you, and because I know Julie, I've developed a new appreciation for what you and I have. Sometimes I feel like I've never had to grow up; you've always taken care of me and supported me. Maybe that's why I don't know who I am. If I'd had to support myself or had to be alone, maybe I'd know. But I would choose my life with you a thousand times out of a hundred.<p>

Julie told me that she'd received her first alimony and child support checks and she wanted to move back to Columbus. Then she paused and told me in a giddy, secretive voice that Tim couldn't afford the mortgage on their house down the street anymore because he had to pay alimony, so they had put it on the market and already had a buyer. With her half of the money she could get a little condo for her and Zoe and start their new life. I was so happy for her, I felt my throat close up and tears burned in the corners of my eyes. She said she felt like she could breathe for the first time in years, and although I know it's different, I felt the same way. I was going to have my best friend living near me again. And better than that, Julie was going to get her life back.

I set up email alerts for job postings that Julie might be interested in. I was hoping to find her something like setting up window displays, but no one seemed to be hiring for that. I thought maybe she'd be a good personal assistant, but all those job postings required years of experience and references. Julie doesn't have any of that. She has an associate's degree in communications and a few years experience working in a boutique that has long since closed. She was anxious about finding work, but when you talked to her later that day, you told her that she would be fine for at least a year after she got her portion of profit from the sale of the house, especially with her alimony and monthly child support checks.

Meanwhile, Caleb has been growing like crazy. I swear he eats more than you do, and you're pregnant and constantly hungry. Although he has a weakness for ice cream - his favorite flavor is the kind in front of him - he chows down on vegetables and protein just as voraciously. He's had a cute little belly his whole life, and seeing it pooch out after a healthy meal makes me happy because I know he's full of things that make him healthy and strong. The other day you pointed out that he's never tasted fast food and I was kind of surprised, but also proud. The only burgers he's had were home made from organic beef. I'm glad we have the resources to teach him how to eat well. Most kids don't have that privilege. When I told you how happy it makes me that we can give our kids everything they need, you put your hand on your belly and turned away. I saw you wipe your cheek and I knew I'd hit a nerve.

"What's wrong?" I asked. I could hear the rushed worry in my voice.

You sniffled and took a deep breath. "I just want to make sure I give her the things I didn't get."

I didn't realize when I said that we'd be able to give our kids everything they need that you would start thinking about your mom. Growing up, you'd never wanted for clothes or food or physical security, but Dolores is not an affectionate person. When I met you in third grade, I thought your nanny was your mom. After all, she gave you hugs when she picked you up from Ms. Muehler's classroom and was always the one to drive us to your house and help us with our homework. Looking back, it's kind of funny that I thought she was your mom, since she was only ten years older than us. But it's also heartbreaking that your nannies were more affectionate with you than your mother. I remember every year at the end of summer you would start to get really mean and cranky and I never understood why. Looking back, I realize that that was when your nannies usually left.

When I was pregnant with Caleb and you went to tell your mom our happy news, you came home sobbing, devastated that your mom had told you that you were an unplanned pregnancy. All her resentment and bitterness towards you suddenly made sense, but the new wound was deep and gushing and all the medical training in the world couldn't heal you. So this time I knew to put my hand behind your back and hold your side, pulling myself close to you. "Our daughter already has everything you didn't get, sweetheart."

At that you started crying harder and turned into me. Even though my chest ached knowing how much you were hurting, I was so happy that you let me fold you into me. There are times I wish my body was as big as a parachute so I could cover all of you and it would be impossible to untangle.

After a long, tender moment holding you in the middle of our kitchen, you pulled away with a sheepish smile.

"You gonna be okay?" I asked quietly.

You nodded. "I want to listen to her," you mumbled, heading towards the stairs.

A few weeks ago we got a package in the mail from your dad. We opened it and found a fetal doppler, which you frowned at, but opened anyway. We didn't have a reason to be monitoring the baby's heartbeat, but we knew it was a quiet gesture of excitement from your dad. That night after Caleb went to bed, we plugged it in and felt our chests tighten at the little drumming sound of our daughter's heartbeat. Every little flutter is the most miraculous sound in the world because it is something that wouldn't exist without our love. It's true when they say that love can never be divided, only multiplied. Someone once asked me if I thought I'd love our new baby as much as I love Caleb, I told them it's impossible not to love something that exists because of love.

And our "love" is definitely showing now. Until recently you'd been able to modify your normal work outfits, but now you needed maternity clothes. You were carrying almost entirely in the front, which I knew you were pleased about. From behind, you looked exactly the same as you did before you were pregnant, which everyone says is the cutest kind of pregnancy. I don't understand why carrying one way is deemed "cuter" than any other way. I knew you'd be beautiful pregnant, and if you were carrying on your sides or hips or shoulders or head or feet I'd think you were the most stunning pregnant woman alive. But carrying in front meant you were excited to go maternity shopping, which you did with my mom just the way you used to shop for Caleb.

I was thankful you and my mom were giving shopping for Caleb a rest. His closets have been bursting since we found out I was pregnant. You've always been excited about dressing him up, and my mom is even worse. When you two go shopping together, it's a marathon event. But I don't like when his clothing distracts him or limits his play. I'd rather he be comfortable and not worry about getting your favorite pair of his powder-blue overalls dirty. I just want him to be able to be in the moment and happy, which is much easier to do in a pair of toddler sweats than in a pinstripe blazer, polo shirt and slacks. Luckily I dress him on most days, so it rarely becomes a disagreement. The only time you get full control over how he dresses is when we go visit your parents or when there's an office event we're all going to, like the company holiday party or summer barbecue. It does make a good family photo op on the way out the door, and even though I'm not as excited as you are about his fashion, I have to admit he looks pretty damn cute.

Although we were careful not to use the doppler around Caleb, he has definitely noticed your tummy is bigger. When he first noticed, he poked at it, curious, but not suspicious or anxious. Then he took a step back and lifted his shirt and poked at his own belly, which is also round because he's two and loves to eat. Then he pointed to your belly again and giggled, making sure you understood he likes being twinsies with you. You smiled back at him, scooped him up, and went to get a snack. You put some baby carrots and blueberries on a plate and shared them. After he went back to play in the living room, I saw you eat a cup of chocolate pudding in three spoonfuls and swipe some frosting off a piece of cake with your finger. I'm pretty sure our daughter is going to be sugar and spice and everything nice.

Although it wasn't as bad as early pregnancy, you still felt sick sometimes. You had an especially bad twenty-fourth week, and scheduled an extra doctor's appointment to see if there was anything amiss. You'd started cramping earlier in your pregnancy than I did, which didn't necessarily mean anything was wrong, but it was unpleasant. The only appointment Dr. Greene had was on a day I was working, and you assured me you'd be fine and if they forced you to do any blood work, you'd corral Elinor into driving over to hold your hand. Of course I wanted to be there with you, but I'd rather you go to the doctor without me than not go at all.

You called me at work after your appointment and sounded defeated and nervous. When I asked what was wrong, you told me that even though our baby looked okay, there was nothing Dr. Greene could do about your cramping, and to make matters worse, she'd put you on bedrest for a week because you had high blood pressure. I felt my own blood pressure start to rise; doctors don't put pregnant women on bedrest on a whim. Dr. Greene must be really worried about you and our baby if she did that. I told you to go right home and put on pajamas and get into bed and not move unless you had to use the bathroom. You sounded annoyed, but promised you would.

On the way home from work I went to the store. I can usually get everything we need and get out of the store in twenty minutes if I have to, but this time I was so flustered, thinking of things you might need while you were on bedrest, it took me way too long. Should I get an extra water pitcher? Snacks? Movies? Magazines? A teddy bear? I got everything I could think of, and at the cashier stand I saw little monkey puppets. I threw a Mama Monkey and a Baby Monkey into my cart, paid, and picked up Caleb before rushing home to you.

I parked Caleb at the kitchen table with some crayons and paper and dashed up the stairs. You were in bed with your laptop and briefcase and phone set up all around you. I rushed to your side and covered your face in kisses. You gave me a wilting smile as you paused from your frantic typing.

"I'm already bored," you declared.

I pressed my cheek to yours. "I'm not," I said. "I'm really worried."

You reached out and picked up the doppler before setting it back down on the sheets. "She's fine," you said. "I've been listening every hour."

But just because you could hear her heartbeat and feel her kick didn't mean everything was fine. Bed rest is serious. So I told you that. "You know you're going to be on bed rest until your blood pressure comes down, right?" I said.

You sighed and nodded.

"So maybe doing the exact same thing you'd be doing at the office isn't the best way to handle it."

You bit your lip in thought. "Britt, I can't just lay here and do nothing all week. I'll literally go crazy. I have clients that are depending on me."

I eyed you with a stern expression. "Our daughter is depending on you too."

At that your eyes darted around the room. Finally you closed your briefcase and said, "I can probably be done for the day."

I gave you a satisfied nod and asked what you wanted for dinner. You said pancakes, so I told Caleb we were having a backwards day and we all ate pancakes and fruit on our bed for dinner. Afterwards he snuggled with you and you read him books, which he kept scurrying out of the room to get. Part of me wished I could leave Caleb with you the next day so you'd have company and wouldn't focus on work the whole time. But I knew you couldn't parent him from bed all day.

Before I went to work in the morning, I made sure you were all set up for a day of rest. I stacked your favorite movies next to you and left tons of snacks in a bag by the bed. I taped some of Caleb's clumsy fingerpaint masterpieces on the walls and brought in a remote-controlled fan in case the air conditioner needed help in its duel with the July heat. I brought in two pitchers of ice water and a bottle of cooling foot lotion. You already have a picture of me holding baby Caleb next to your side of the bed, but I moved the more recent picture of me and toddler-Caleb on the swings next to it. I look happy with him in my lap, but _his_ smile is the purest thing I've ever seen. Hopefully looking at that picture will remind you who you're doing this for.

After double-checking that you had your phone charger and Dr. Greene's number on speed-dial, I gave you ten times as many kisses as usual before loading Caleb into my car to take to school. Work seemed endless, and I must have called you a dozen times to ask how you were feeling and make sure you were still in bed. One time while I was talking to you, Arlene almost walked down the street without me noticing. She made it as far as the sidewalk before I felt the shift in temperature and noticed the front door was open. It was a hot day, and her health isn't good, and my heart was pounding for a few minutes after I brought her back inside, thinking about what might have happened if I hadn't noticed.

While Arlene was taking her afternoon nap, I checked my email on my phone. You'd sent me a YouTube clip of a woman ranting about how awful bedrest is. I know you meant it to be funny, but it wasn't funny at all. I wish we could swap bodies and I could do your bedrest for you, because I would take it more seriously.

No sooner had the clip ended, when I got a call from Brenda informing me that Caleb's classmate Evan had been diagnosed with croup and that Caleb had been exposed. She said I didn't need to pick him up right away, but that Hummingbird's Nest would be closed for a few days to make sure no one else got sick. I started panicking, trying to figure out who would take care of Caleb while I worked the next few days. I thought about asking Julie, but I didn't want to expose Zoe. My sister was working. I knew in a pinch my mom would be happy to drive up, but I was still worried.

When I got home that day, the first thing I heard was you coughing. My stomach twisted. The last thing you needed was to get sick on top of being on bedrest. Luckily croup can't be transmitted to the baby, but your overall health impacts her tremendously. A few hours later over dinner, Caleb started to cough. The first few coughs were just light with a bit of phlegm, but as the evening wore on, his coughs began to bark like a seal. I started to feel like I was in slow-moving quicksand, and I needed to act quickly to keep everyone from sinking.

I called the hospice agency and told them I needed to take a few days off to take care of my pregnant wife on bedrest and ill son. Even if Caleb didn't end up having croup - although it sure sounded like he did - I needed to feel like I was taking care of my family. I scheduled a doctor's appointment for Caleb online and researched home care for toddlers with croup. After setting you and Caleb up in bed with an episode of _Puppies in Need of Cuddles_ - sorry, I know you hate it - I ran out to the store and got humidifiers for both of the bedrooms. That night we tossed and turned as we listened to Caleb's barking cough down the hall every twenty minutes.

Sure enough, the doctor confirmed on the spot that Caleb had croup. The next few nights I hardly slept. Between your coughing and tossing and turning and Caleb's pitiful seal bark drifting down the hall, I was too upset to sleep. You weren't barking - adults usually don't - but after each coughing fit, I saw you hold your sides to stop the ache. For the first time in his life, Caleb didn't want to eat, and he was fussier than ever. His loose curls matted to his head with sweat and I monitored his temperature carefully, giving him a fever reducer when it got over a hundred degrees. He lay in bed, not even wanting his sippy cup of juice because it hurt so much to swallow. I let him have all the popsicles and sorbet he wanted, and sat with him in our steam-filled bathroom a few times a day to relax his throat like the doctor recommended. I don't like him watching too much TV, but I brought the TV from the guest room into his room, hoping it would distract him from being so uncomfortable. He just lay there, staring at it and shifting in his bed, kicking his blankets around. "_Hurt_, Mom-ny," he croaked, pointing to his throat with an exhausted whimper. "_Hurt_."

I tried to keep myself from crying as I cradled him to my chest and willed the pain away from his sweaty little body. I wanted to explain that if I could, I would make his throat all better. Until now, you and I have always been able to make bad things go away for him. But this time we couldn't, and being so close to me made him too hot, so he pushed me away. I put in a new _Mr. Rogers _DVD and wiped his forehead with a washcloth and tried not to cry as his eyes drooped closed in restless exhaustion.

There is nothing worse than watching the people you love hurt. They don't teach you that in nursing school.

When I asked, you said the baby was getting agitated, no doubt from all your coughing. When you called Dr. Greene and told her our son had croup and you'd been coughing through the nights, she extended your bedrest by ten days. You cursed as you hung up the phone and then sighed, dialing your boss to tell him you'd be telecommuting for another week.

Julie quickly found a condo she liked and I was overjoyed when she told me the owners had accepted her first offer. I've never bought property, but I hear it's a complicated and confusing process. I was glad Julie seemed to know what she was doing. She was so giddy as she told me the place was perfect and in a good school district and just ten minutes away from our house. For a few minutes I forgot how stressful our life was, but when she told me I sounded tired and asked how I was doing, I sank back into the awful, sick feeling of our house and all its coughing and groaning and sweating. Her voice tinged with worry as she offered to come help me. I thanked her but told her that Caleb would be contagious until his symptoms disappeared and I didn't want Zoe to get sick. I reassured her that as soon as both you and Caleb were symptom-free, I couldn't wait to help her move into her new place and see her work her decorating magic.

My happiness for Julie was short-lived, not only because as soon as I hung up Caleb started to cry, but because an hour later I got a call from the hospice agency that Arlene was in critical condition and had been transferred to the hospital. I was stunned. Her health had been declining, but I thought it would be at least a few more months until she would need intensive care. My supervisor told me she'd gotten an infection in her lungs and needed her oxygen levels monitored around the clock. I pressed my hand over my mouth and imagined the sweet old woman I'd come to love over the past year bound to a bed with tubes coming out of her. I knew the day would come, but I thought I'd have more time. I guess that's how it always is. We always think we have more time.

Caleb's coughing lessened and he started sleeping for longer periods of time. I was relieved, but I was still so worried about you. The doppler was reassuring, but you coughed a lot and winced as you held your sides. I massaged your hips and rubbed your legs to prevent clotting, but I still felt helpless. I wished I could clone myself so I never had to take a minute to sleep or eat or bathe myself without knowing someone was watching you and Caleb. Because despite being exhausted, I was frantic and never felt like I was doing enough to take care of the three of you. The only time I let myself slow down was when your dad came over on Saturday afternoon. He took one look at me and put his gentle hand on my shoulder, instructing me to go sleep in the guest room and let Dr. Lopez manage the infirmary. I woke up groggy and disoriented a few hours later, feeling guilty and relieved when I walked into the kitchen to find your dad making dinner. He even knew to purée Caleb's dinner so it would go down easier and he'd eat more. I love your dad, Santana.

I wanted to go visit Arlene, but I knew that I shouldn't, since I was living in a house full of hacking, sick people. I wished I could Skype her or call her or something, but with her poor memory, it wasn't likely she'd recognize me or be able to have a conversation. So instead I prayed for her and asked my supervisor for updates on her condition. But after only a week in the ICU, we heard that she'd died. I felt so, so guilty and sad. The last time I'd seen her, I'd been in a rush to leave and get home to you and Caleb. Of course you're my family and my priority. But I wish I'd taken a moment to tell her how much I'd loved being her companion for the past year. That night we lit a candle and I told you all the things I loved about working with Arlene; her child-like wonder, her optimism, and always having a fresh start every morning. I hope our daughter has those same qualities.

When the doctor said Caleb was well enough to go back to school, I was relieved, but not quite relaxed. You were still on bedrest and growing crankier by the day. You sat with your laptop in front of you all day, typing furiously and making dozens of phone calls. I heard more of your hard lawyer voice that week than I had in a long time. I couldn't shake the feeling that you were working yourself to death, even in bed. One day I was so exasperated with you that I disconnected the wifi so you were forced to take a break. I was really glad Caleb was at school when I heard you shout _god fucking dammit!_ down the hall. I felt a little guilty, but not guilty enough to plug the internet back in. I went into the bedroom and pretended not to know what was wrong as I rubbed your feet.

"Being on bedrest is stressing me the fuck out!" you snapped.

I smoothed my hands over your legs and nodded.

"And I'm so freaking horny and your hands all over me are not helping!" you said, your voice lowering and your chin tucking in frustration.

I paused my hands. "What did Dr. Greene say about sex?" I asked.

Your frown deepened to a scowl. "She said no sex until my blood pressure goes down."

I pouted back at you before murmuring, "Then we better get your blood pressure down."

You sighed. "I don't know _how_ to slow down, Britt. It feels like _torture_ to not be getting stuff done."

I nodded. It's true, I've rarely seen you slow down. It's the reason you're so successful. My mom once said that you need a certain amount of organized chaos in your life to feel okay, and that was one of the reasons you're a great mom. _Motherhood is a lifetime of organized chaos_, she chuckled.

I decided maybe what you needed to do was organize your bedrest chaos. "How about this?" I suggested. "How about we set a timer and you work for twenty minutes and then rest for twenty minutes. I can come in and rub your back and pray with you."

"I don't pray, Britt," you grumbled. "You know how I feel about church and stuff."

"I know," I soothed. We got in a huge fight once during our engagement about being married in a church by a pastor, and you've never been fond of going to church with my parents around the holidays. You tolerate it, and you were okay with a private blessing of our marriage and life blessing for Caleb a few years ago, but in general you avoid church and religion. I understand; it's not a culture you grew up with, and most of the religious people you've known, aside from my parents, think our marriage is an abomination. But I wish you could be open to some kind of spirituality. I think it would ease a lot of stress in your life. "I don't mean asking God for salvation or repenting or anything. I just mean sitting quietly and asking for positive energy to come into your body and our daughter's life. Like a meditation. That's what prayer is for me."

You pursed your lips in thought and then nodded. "I could do that," you said. "Twenty minutes seems like a long time though."

I shrugged. "We can just hold each other and enjoy the quiet while Caleb is at school," I offered.

You nodded and I saw your shoulders loosen a bit. I had been right; what you needed was to organize your chaos.

I got the timer we'd been using to potty train Caleb - he sits on the potty for three minutes before he can get up - and you rolled your eyes with a giggle as I set it for twenty minutes and placed it on the bathroom counter where you could see it. For the rest of your bedrest, we both lived in twenty minute rhythmic shifts. I tried to think of new things to do with each period of rest; feed you cool melon slices, rub your legs, brush your hair, meditate with our hands on your belly, and read funny articles from mommy blogs to you. Although you enjoyed our meditation time together, I could tell you were always a little relieved when the metallic echo of Caleb's potty-timer crowed _great work, champ! _after twenty minutes. During the times we lay together, I loved the way you giggled against me at the sound.

One day during our quiet time you hummed beside me. "I think I found a name," you said, turning onto your side to face me. "I was looking online earlier today and one really spoke to me."

I was hesitant, but smiled at you.

"What do you think of the name Eden?"

When I heard you say it and saw the brightness in your eyes, I felt something pang inside my chest. I loved everything about it. I loved the sound and the meaning and most of all, I loved how calm you were as you said it. I don't know if I've ever told you about paradise moments out loud. But you must have known if you wanted to name our daughter Eden.

"I love it," I murmured.

You ran your hand up my arm and smiled. "Let's make sure it fits her first."

"Of course," I said.

You leaned forward and kissed me, and through that kiss, I felt more connected to our daughter than ever before. I just know Eden Lopez-Pierce is going to be an amazing human being.

* * *

><p>Julie showed up at our house a few days later with a bundle of pink balloons. I'd told her we were having a girl the same day we found out, and she had squealed in delight, though not half as loud as Elinor or my mom. She came into our bedroom and gave you a pout, asking how you were holding up. I think she regretted asking when, ten minutes later, you were still going on about the injustice of bedrest, like you might actually try to outlaw it once you were allowed to get up. But she kept her beautiful smile bright for you and nodded in sympathy before asking if she could steal me for a few hours for a secret project.<p>

Julie's secret project turned out to be setting up our daughter's nursery. She helped me move your office furniture down into the parlor that we never use and then helped me bring in all Caleb's old baby things from the garage; his crib, his changing table, his swing and diaper pail. Obviously we won't be needing any of it for a few months, but Julie said she wanted it to be exactly the way it needed to be for when our daughter was born. "Besides," she said, "people will want to see the nursery at the surprise baby shower I'm throwing your wife in a few weeks."

"Surprise baby shower?" I asked with a cringe. "That's really sweet, Julie, but Santana doesn't like surprises at all."

Julie hummed, frowning as she wiped down the dusty sides of the changing table. "Well then I won't surprise her. But I _am_ throwing you a shower. So... surprise!" she said with a playful smile, holding up her hands.

I grinned and hugged her before she corralled me into going to the fabric store. She walked up and down the aisles, appraising bolts of fabric, tapping her finger to her lips. "How do you feel about a pink?" she asked.

We were very careful to pick gender-neutral colors when we were decorating Caleb's nursery. I wanted to do the same for Eden, but other people had other plans. My mom had brought us a little pink-and-white striped onesie with a cupcake on the butt. Elinor had brought over ten different spools of pink and white ribbon to help you design our birth announcements. And most importantly, Dolores had crocheted a pink baby blanket and sent it to us within a week of knowing we were having a girl. When you opened the package, you were dumbfounded for a minute before holding the blanket to your chest and trying not to cry. I rubbed your back as you buried your face in your mother's gesture of excitement and shuddered, letting the tears soak into the yarn that had passed through your mother's hands as she thought of you and our daughter. Somehow I knew that blanket meant that everything we had to purchase for Eden would be pink and ruffly.

"Pink is fine," I said with a smile and a shrug. "Santana will like it."

Julie bought several bolts of pink and white fabric in different shades, slapping my hand away when I tried to pay. "_Please_, Britt," she argued. "Let me _start_ to pay you back."

That afternoon Julie worked her magic in the nursery. I asked if she wanted help, but she shook her head and shooed me out. I heard the whirring of her sewing machine off and on and tried to imagine what she was doing. A few hours later, she came to the door of the bedroom where I was lying next to you reading. "Santana, are you allowed to get up for just a minute to come look?" she asked in a small, excited voice.

You were allowed to get up and go to the bathroom and briefly prepare food, so I nodded and helped you up. We walked down the hall, anxious to see what she'd done.

Julie had absolutely transformed the room. She'd made curtains out of pink and white pinstripe fabric that let light stream in through the tree branches outside, with a heavier shade behind it that could be drawn to make the room dark if our daughter was sensitive to light. She'd made a pink dust ruffle for the bottom of the crib and covered the green padding inside the crib with pastel pink cotton. She'd made a slipcover for the pad on the changing table out of a pink terrycloth. She had covered one of the chairs from the parlor in pastel pink canvas. And most breathtakingly, she'd created a canopy of pink and white satin over the crib that draped down over the sides, making it look like a bed for infant royalty.

"_Oh_..." you gasped when you saw. "Oh, Julie..."

"You like it?" she asked, her face hopeful.

"It's _perfect_," you hushed, looking around in wonder.

You floated towards the chair, which had a pillow she had re-covered with pink and white pinstripe fabric to match the curtains. You sat down and took the pillow in your lap, gazing around you as you pressed it to your belly, mouth open a bit in awe. "I can't believe this was my office a few hours ago!" you said, whispering as if our daughter was already asleep in the crib.

Julie gave you a satisfied giggle and walked over to hug you, bending down and rubbing your back. "I wanted to give you some of Zoe's old stuff, but Tim gave it all away," she said with an apologetic smile.

"No, no, we don't need anything else, this is _perfect_," you assured her. "_Thank_ you, Julie."

"There's another part of your baby shower gift," Julie said, her smile growing bright again.

Your face looked curious, as if at a loss for what more she could possibly give us.

"I'm throwing you a baby shower in a few weeks," she said with a playful shrug. "I was going to surprise you, but Britt said you don't like surprises."

At that you stood up and wrapped your arms around Julie, your belly against hers and and your cheeks pressed together as you both smiled at me.

* * *

><p>After a week of actively trying to bring down your blood pressure, Dr. Greene gave you the <em>okay<em> to go back to work if you promised not to work longer than nine hour days, took your full lunch break to relax, and worked from home once a week. You were so ecstatic, you told her you'd work from home _twice_ a week if it meant you didn't have to be in bed the whole time. She gave you a smile and a pat on the shoulder and told you to keep doing whatever had calmed you down. Before she left, your eyes lit up as you asked, "Does this mean I can have sex again?" She chuckled and nodded. After she left the room you did a little fist pump and pulled me down onto you. "Take me home _now_," you said, your voice low and playfully threatening.

You marched me straight into the guest room, sitting me on the bed. "I'm sick of being in our bedroom," you explained before walking back down the hall. You came back a moment later with The Box and its key, a glint in your eye.

"So you know how I hate to admit when I'm wrong?" you said, copping a little attitude but keeping your playful smile as you unlocked the box.

"You're never wrong, Santana," I said, eyes twinkling.

"True," you grinned. "But I wanted to let you know that I get why you were so mad I didn't want to play rough while you were pregnant."

"Oh really," I smirked.

"Yeah. I would like to formally apologize for that."

"Oh really…" I repeated.

You quirked your eyebrow and tossed the strap-on harness at me. "Really," you said, wasting no time as you pulled your shirt over your head.

Your eagerness revved me up. Normally I would have teased you by undressing as slowly as possible, but seeing you so excited to be naked with me after a few weeks without touching each other was electric. I shrugged out of my dress and just seconds after I had my panties off, you were sliding the straps of the harness over my ankles.

"You're not gonna take my socks off?" I teased. "Because socks really aren't sexy," I said with a grin as you looked up at me.

"They're really not," you giggled, tugging them off as I slid the harness further up my legs.

I pulled the straps tight and pulled you into me, feeling your wicked smile against my lips.

We only kissed for a minute before I felt you fiddling with the harness, trying to attach the dildo. The straps pulled gently at my hips and between my legs as you did. When you were sure the attachment was secure, you slid your fingers along the straps between my legs and drew them up, collecting some of the moisture there before spreading it on your lips and licking it off.

"Looks like we're both ready to go," you murmured, your grin growing even more wicked.

If you hadn't been pregnant, I would have shoved you onto the bed and jumped on top of you, pinning you down. Thankfully, that's what you did to me, attacking my neck and pulling my bra straps down without even unclasping it, frantically kneading and pawing at my breasts. "I want you so bad, baby," you panted, biting down on my earlobe as your breath came out in shaky puffs against my skin.

I slid my hands down your back and squeezed your ass. I managed to croak out, "How do you want me?" as I bit your ear back in response.

You shuddered and pinched my nipple between your thumb and forefinger. "From behind," you whispered.

I tried not to moan too loudly as you pried yourself off me and crawled onto all fours. I sprang up and knelt behind you, running my hands up and down your back, over your hips, and down to cup your breasts. You ground yourself back into me and groaned as I slid the dildo through you, lubricating it with your juices and teasing you. You didn't let me tease you long though, because you reached between your legs and guided the strap-on inside, gasping in relief as I pressed in slowly. You started rocking back and forth on all fours, showing me how fast you wanted to go, which for someone who is six months pregnant, was pretty fast.

I know I've said it before, but I love every kind of sex we've ever had. Except that time we tried the warming lube that made me feel like I was on fire. But that was just crappy sex toy ingredients. I love having sweet, playful sex. I love making love and feeling you tremble, open and vulnerable in my arms. And I love having reckless, passionate, exhausting sex like this.

One of the best things about strap-on sex is that I can use my hands to touch other places and hold you while still stimulating the softest part of you and making you writhe. I feel strong and I love connecting my hips to yours and knowing you can feel the movement inside you, even if I can't. I love the rough way you grind and press into me, and I love watching the skin of your back start to glow as we move. I love the way you dip and raise your head as you keen and rock in front of me. And I love the telltale sign when you reinforce your right elbow and lift your left hand to touch between your legs as your noises lift in pitch with your urgency.

This time you had the vibrator in your fist and when you buckled your elbows to turn it on, I let go of your hips and reached down and took it from you. "Let me," I said, using a warm but commanding voice. You whimpered and nodded, burying your face in the duvet.

I slid my hands over your breasts and down either side of your body. I spread your folds with one hand, feeling how the dildo slid in and out just an inch below my fingers. I held it there for a moment before you grunted and moaned, "_Please_, Britt." I could feel you shaking and I couldn't wait to feel your back arch and your insides tighten around the strap-on. I pressed the vibrator delicately against your clit and your breath caught, pressing down against it as I kept sliding the strap-on in and out of you. "There!" you squeaked after a minute. "Oh god, oh- oh! Oh!" and then your back flexed down towards the bed as your head tilted up and your thighs stiffened. I slowed but kept pressing into you, holding the vibrator in the exact spot it was when you'd started gasping. After you twisted below me for a moment, you grabbed my wrist and pulled the vibrator away. Your breath broke and you started panting, a smile creeping across your lips.

You turned onto your side, holding your belly as your shoulders rose and fell, trying to catch your breath. I unstrapped and curled around you, stroking your cheeks and shoulders with my fingers, kissing a few beads of sweat off your forehead. "Feel good, baby?" I asked. You nodded and closed your eyes for a moment. When you opened them, you gave me a sated, sleepy smile. "Now how do you want _me_?" you asked, offering to return the favor.

Somehow, watching you come had shifted the energy and now I didn't want to be so reckless and fast. The image of you lying naked on your side, sweaty and calm, was too beautiful to disturb, no matter how much I ached between my legs. "Just like this," I said. I handed the vibrator to you and threaded my fingers through your hair. "Kiss me and use that."

You gave me a relieved smile and shifted forward, kissing me long and deep. After a minute you turned the vibrator back on and circled my nipples with it, which made me jolt. My nipples have always been really sensitive, and the vibration was almost too much. I had to break away from your mouth and gasp, but you quickly moved it down over my stomach, into my belly button, and finally, between my legs. It didn't take long before my stomach was tensing and my legs were clenching and all it took was you biting down on my bottom lip for me to start spinning and arching and gasping. Coming feels different with a vibrator; not bad different, but definitely different, and sudden. You knew just when to pull the vibrator away and shut it off.

I settled into the crook of your neck and let my breathing even out, your after-sex scent washing over me and making me drowsy. We were sticky and hot and tangled and I had almost fallen asleep when I felt you swallow.

"We should tell Caleb soon," you said.

"About how awesome sex is? Because I think he's too young to understand..." I said with a smile. I knew you were talking about the baby, but I never pass up an opportunity to try to make you laugh.

It worked, and you giggled. "No, I meant about Eden."

I stroked your belly and nodded. "Let's not tell him the name, though. Just in case it doesn't fit her."

You nodded. "Want to tell him today?" you asked. "After dinner?"

I smiled back at you and nodded.

"How should we tell him?" you asked.

I bit my lip as I pondered. "I think we should just tell him in plain English. If he doesn't understand, we can use the monkey puppets I bought you when you first got put on bedrest."

You gave me a concerned frown. "Do you think he'll think we're bringing a baby monkey to live with us?" you asked.

I giggled. "He would probably be okay with that."

* * *

><p>After dinner that night we went and sat on the couch, holding hands.<p>

"Hey Caleb, c'mere, boo," you said, smiling over at where Caleb was playing with his trucks. "Mom-ny and I want to tell you something happy."

"Happy!" Caleb echoed, bouncing once as he maneuvered a dump truck next to a fire engine.

Your grin spread so your eyes crinkled up. "Come here."

Caleb looked at the truck in his hand and then back at you. After a moment he picked up the truck and brought it over to the couch, setting it on your lap.

"Thank you, Caleb," you cooed. "I like when you share your trucks with me."

"Happy truck," Caleb said, pointing.

"It does look happy," I said, noting the smile on the plastic front. "Does Mama look happy too?"

Caleb looked from me to you and back to me. "Mama's happy," he stated, bobbing his head.

"Yeah, she is happy. And I'm happy too," I said, squeezing your hand. "We're happy because something very special is going to happen to our family."

"Happy family," Caleb babbled to himself, running the truck up and down your thigh.

You smiled as you tapped him under the chin.

"Hey Caleb, you know how your friend Evan has a baby brother named Max?"

Caleb nodded, still focused on the truck on your leg. I squeezed your hand and you looked at me, wanting me to pick up where you'd left off.

"We're going to have a baby come to _our_ family," I said.

We watched Caleb's face to see how he took the news. Nothing seemed to change. After a moment, he said, "Tomorrow." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

You smiled. "No, not tomorrow. The baby has to grow for a while."

"We'll go pick it up," Caleb said. Clearly he is an expert on babies.

"No, we're not going to go pick it up..." I said, biting down a smile and trying to figure out how to explain gestation to a two-year-old. My mind flickered to the monkey puppets I knew were upstairs.

You put your hand gently on Caleb's truck so he couldn't keep moving it. "The baby is growing inside me," you said, giving him a reassuring smile. "She's going to grow until she's big enough to come out and meet us. She told us she'll be big enough right before Halloween time."

"We'll get pumpkins," Caleb said.

You looked at me, perplexed. I wasn't sure if Caleb understood either. I was, however, impressed that he had linked Halloween and pumpkins, since his last Halloween had been almost half his lifetime ago. But I really wanted him to understand so we would know if he was excited or angry or scared.

"Caleb, Mama's going to have a baby and that baby is going to be your little sister. Someone for you to play with. Someone who will eat dinner with us every night and sleep in the room next to yours. Forever."

Caleb kept trying to move his truck on your leg as he said, "Okay."

Both of us were so confused. Was he really so apathetic about having a little sister?

"The baby is in my tummy, Caleb," you said.

That got Caleb's attention. "In your _tummy_?" he asked, his eyes wide.

Your smile grew big because you knew he understood now. "Yeah, in my tummy!" you chirped.

Caleb leaned forward and yanked up your shirt, then stuck his fingers in your bellybutton, trying to pry it open. "Wanna see," he said. I'm sure his nails were scratching you. It's still hard to trim them. But you giggled and tucked your chin down as you watched him try to peek inside your tummy.

"You can't see yet," I laughed. "The baby is like a present, but we have to wait until Halloween time to open it. But we can talk to her and sing to her and get ready for her to come to our family."

Caleb looked back and forth between us for a moment, then turned and bolted up the stairs. You looked at me and frowned. I bit my lip. I couldn't tell if he was confused or upset or just being a two-year-old.

Moments later he returned with one of his favorite books. "Read!" he demanded, pointing to your stomach.

You let out the cutest giggle as you bent forward and drew him onto your lap. "We can read to your baby sister," you said, settling him against your chest as you opened the book and started reciting, _"One evening, after thinking it over for some time, Harold decided to go for a walk in the moonlight..."_

I don't think I've ever smiled so hard in my life.


	16. Heroine

**A/N: Thanks to Muriel and Frogs!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16: Heroine<strong>

Since we decided on a name, I realized we have a _baby_ coming into our family. Giving her something I can attach to her, even if it's just a word, makes her more real, since I can't feel her in my belly like I felt Caleb. I remember you were anxious about feeling connected to Caleb before he was born, and at the time I didn't understand; of _course_ you would connect with him. You're his mother and he wouldn't exist if you hadn't loved him from the day we started trying to bring him into the world. But now I understand a little better. I know I will love our daughter and she will love me, but she's not as tangible to me as Caleb was. People are solid, but ideas are not. Giving our daughter a name, even if it was just to try on, made her more of a person and less of an idea to me. So even if we realize her name isn't Eden, I'm glad we have something that makes her more solid in my mind.

Caleb is very fond of gently poking your belly with a grin and saying, "Baby!" You always smile back at him and say, "Yep, your baby sister is growing and growing, just like you!" Sometimes you tell him things about her over dinner or as you're giving him a bath, just to help him understand what it will be like to have an infant in the house. _She's going to be very small and she won't be able to play with you until she's bigger. She's going to need a lot of sleep and we'll have to be quiet when she's napping. She won't be able to eat all the delicious food Mom-ny cooks because her tummy is too sensitive. She will cry when she needs something because she can't use her words yet. Her diapers will be smaller than the ones you wear at night. She'll have to wear them all the time because she can't use the potty like you._

Hearing you talk to Caleb about our daughter made me remember what it was like to have an infant in the house. I absolutely adored those first few weeks with you and Caleb. Every little thing he did was a miracle, and every look and smile and happy sigh you gave me made me feel closer to you. I am really looking forward to that again. It probably won't be as quiet, since we've got Caleb and he is talking more and more every day. But it will still be magical.

One day while you were at work and Caleb was at school, I started cleaning out the closet in what used to be your office but is now the nursery. I was halfway through sorting the books into boxes to be put in the garage or transferred to your new office downstairs when I came across a white scrapbook. Opening it, I gasped. On the first page were the words _Before You Were Born_. It was the scrapbook you and I made together when I was pregnant with Caleb. In all our business and joy and anxiety about being parents, we had never shown it to him. I sat on the floor in the middle of stacks of books and looked through the pages.

The first page was a picture of us building a volcano together in my garage when we were ten. Our hands are covered in paper maché and paint and there are Oreo crumbs on one side of my mouth. I'm smiling so hard my eyes are almost slits, and your smile looks nervous and tired. My dad has one hand on each of our shoulders and the volcano sits in front of us, a bit lopsided and dripping onto the concrete floor.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we hadn't been assigned to be each others' partners for that project.

The next pages are full of pictures from high school. It's a confetti of red and white uniforms peppered with solo cups and sunglasses and bathing suits and taffeta from Glee club costumes. But looking at it, what sticks out to me is what _isn't_ there. Like the way the light shone through your curtains on Friday afternoons after we'd been soaking first in your hot tub and then in each other. Or the contents of our lockers and notes we passed to each other during class. The programs from Glee club competitions. The way my fingerprints would stick on the patent-leather shine of the piano and I'd have to rub them off with the sleeve of my jacket as you plucked out melodies after rehearsal. Those are the things I remember.

I turned to the college pages. They look a lot like the high school pages, but the black and red uniforms are replaced with sun streaming through the green leaves of the apple orchard we went to several times each year. There's a picture of you in the library, fast asleep with your face planted in a book. And there's a picture of you and Kelsey and Brian with Sasha, who is wearing her cap and gown. If I squint hard enough, I can see a few tear tracks on your face, which Sasha had teased you about. You were sad to see her leave, but so happy and proud your best friend had gotten into Harvard Law.

The Yale years are a little sparse in the book. Elinor appears a few times, and there is a sweet picture of us kissing in Times Square on New Years Eve the one time we went. But again I'm struck by what's not there. There is no picture of the bed I couldn't get out of for days at a time. There is no picture of you lying alone in that bed, curled around a pillow that would never feel like me. There's no picture of me sitting in the doctor's office, staring blankly at the floor. And there's no picture of us sitting at our dining room table after I came back, trying to find things to talk about.

The pictures after Yale are odd too. On the one hand, you and I look much better and in almost all of them, you're holding my hand with reassuring determination and protectiveness. But my dad is also there, literally or metaphorically, bandaged with half of his face drooping as he tries to smile after his stroke. Part way through those photos a ring appears, hanging by a chain around your neck with the promise to marry me as soon as our marriage is equal to all others in Ohio. That sparkling gem was the light that helped us through until my dad was able to live independently and you and I could finally resume our domestic life.

The next few pages make up for the sparseness of the years before. Our smiles are bright as we set up our new apartment in Columbus. There's more color in my face and less anxiety in your smile. Newspaper clippings start to pepper the pages as it becomes obvious to me we were saving things for this book. There are lots of updates on the bill you helped write. There's a picture of our fertility altar. There's a picture of the positive pregnancy test. The final pages are my favorite, filled with photos of my slowly expanding belly and your proud, protective, increasingly nervous smile. There's a copy of the front page of the Columbus Dispatch, our faces pressed together in the best kiss of our lives, unaware of the camera snapping as you put your hand on my belly and cried with me, elated and disbelieving that we'd finally be able to get married. And of course our wedding pictures, which are beautiful. You looked timeless in your simple satin dress. Looking at those pictures makes me want to marry you again.

The second to last page has only one photo on it. The room is dark and among the glow of candles, I can see my arm hanging over the edge of the bathtub, my eyes closed and my face set in concentration. I'm in labor, meditating and probably unaware that you were taking a picture. I was so ready to meet Caleb, but scared of the birth. I was grateful to have your hand in mine the entire time.

And the last page is the three of us in the hospital, Caleb still looking squished, but pink and healthy as I muster up the energy to smile. You look frazzled and relieved and bursting with pride. Underneath the picture you wrote, _And this is just the beginning_.

I closed the book and held it to my chest. We've had an amazing life together, and looking at it all in the space of twenty minutes made my heart ache with pride. What makes this book so special is that I know every place, every kiss, every date that the pictures come from. If asked, I could fill in the scenery beyond what the camera captured. I lived it, and I understand it in ways no one but you ever will. So even though we made the book for Caleb, it was really to chronicle our lives for ourselves.

My phone rang and I was startled out of my memory. It was Julie. Her voice has started to change over the past few weeks, and she sounded stronger and happier. I no longer got a little pang of fear when she called. She was always in a happy bluster, planning your baby shower or looking for jobs or decorating her new apartment.

After double-checking the guest list for your shower with me - she really should have done that with you, it's your shower - she asked if I was planning to give you a gift. I wanted to, but we already have everything we need for our baby girl. I didn't know what to give you you wouldn't be more excited to buy yourself. I said I was still thinking and she told me she was sure I'd think of something. I hummed and asked how Zoe was transitioning to the new house. She'd been a hyper wreck the day I helped Julie move in, and I was sure she'd been wreaking havoc on the place. Julie giggled and said Zoe was adjusting fine and had already drawn a cat on the wall of her bedroom while Julie wasn't looking. I traced the edge of the scrapbook in my lap as I listened and giggled. As I did, I realized what I wanted to give you. I got up and went to my computer, turning on your scanner as I opened my laptop and pulled up my file of photos. After I hung up with Julie, I worked for what seemed like only ten minutes before I realized I was going to be late to pick up Caleb.

* * *

><p>I came home from yoga one Saturday morning after picking up some groceries. You were sitting on the couch with your feet on the coffee table, massaging your hip to work out a cramp. You had really blossomed into pregnancy; your belly was prominent and your face and hips were rounder. Your hair and nails and skin were all glowing, and to me you radiated beauty and hope.<p>

"Yay, Mom-ny's home," you greeted as I came in the front door.

"Mom-ny!" Caleb shrieked, dropping his plastic spatula and running toward me.

"Hey, buddy," I grinned. I rubbed him on the head as I set the groceries down. I knelt and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which he returned. His kisses are so gentle, leaving just a hint of dampness on my cheek that tingles in the sweetest way. I love our son's kisses.

"Hey, Britt," you sighed, your head turned toward me with a lazy smile, resting back on the couch cushions.

"Hey, sweetie," I smiled. I went into the kitchen to put away the groceries as Caleb returned to banging his pots and pans together in his play kitchen. I tossed the refrigerated items in the fridge and left the rest for later. I wanted to give my beautifully pregnant wife a kiss.

I walked out of the kitchen and leaned over the back of the couch. "Hey, baby," I murmured, kissing you with as much juice as I could at that angle. "How was your morning?"

"Good. Long. I think I tired myself out getting up to go to the bathroom so many times. And when I didn't have to go, Caleb did. This potty training business is exhausting."

"Pregnancy is exhausting _without_ a two year old to potty train," I validated, brushing your hair absentmindedly over the cushions. "Did you sleep okay last night?"

"Thankfully, yes," you replied. "I only had to get up to pee twice. But I keep having crazy baby dreams."

"Like what?" asked I, smiling.

"I dreamed our baby insisted on singing everything instead of talking. She was especially fond of Elton John songs."

I burst out laughing.

"It's funny at first, but I've had _The Circle of Life_ stuck in my head all day…" you said, rolling your eyes. "Hey Caleb, come sit on the couch with us," you said. "Mama's tired, Boo. We can read _Goodnight Moon_ again."

Caleb didn't respond, so I asked, "Whatcha making there, Caleb?"

"Pancakes," Caleb announced, pointing a chubby finger toward the miniature frying pan on the plastic stove he was slaving away over. You let your head fall back onto the couch cushions again, sighing.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked, looking down at you. I just love the way your belly softens everything about you.

"Mmm… popsicle," you murmured, resting your eyes.

"Grape or cherry?" I asked, heading toward the kitchen again.

"Cherry," you said. "No, grape." I opened the freezer. "Cherry!" you called.

I took one cherry and one grape popsicle out to the living room, figuring I'd eat whichever one you didn't want.

I slipped off my shoes and sat on the couch next to you.

"Thanks," you smiled, taking the cherry popsicle. I was glad you picked cherry because it makes your lips look so sexy when it stains them bright red.

"Anything for my mamacita," said I with a wink. I put my hand on your belly, feeling its firm swell, hoping to feel a little nudge to my palm. I'd only felt our daughter move a few times, though you swore she was constantly doing yoga on your pancreas. "I think you're bigger today," I noted. "You actually look seven months."

"I feel about _ten_ months," you grumbled, licking your popsicle. "I can't believe I have another two months of this. And it's only going to get _worse_."

You are the most adorable pregnant woman in the world. The roundness of your belly softens you, making you appear more gentle and approachable to the rest of the world. I've known for over a decade how gentle and loving you can be, but it's nice to think that perhaps other people can experience that side of you now, too.

"I think you're the most adorable baby-mama ever," I said, tilting my head with a smile. I patted your belly before beginning to draw slow circles on it with my palm. The room fell quiet as Caleb paused his cooking and toddled over to pick up Wabbit. He found a plastic spoon and began feeding Wabbit from the little frying pan he'd been stirring. We looked at each other for a minute, our smiles indicating just how enamored we are with our son. As I stilled my hand on your belly, I felt a tiny nudge into my palm. We looked at each other, our eyes both wide with joy.

A moment later, the doorbell rang. You gave me a curious frown, which meant you weren't expecting anyone. I shrugged in response, indicating I wasn't expecting anyone either. I hopped up and trotted to the door, opening it.

To both of our surprise, Dolores was standing on our doorstep wearing a floral dress and holding a wrapped gift. She's never been to our house. It was kind of alarming. Normally I don't care about the way our house looks, but I wish I'd had a minute to pick up some of Caleb's toys and wipe the fingerprints off the coffee table. If your mom is going to visit, I want our house to look really nice, and I know you do too.

Your mom's expression shifted from one of apprehension to one of disappointed confusion. I felt you walk up behind me, your belly brushing my elbow as you greeted your mom, who was peering past us into the house. "Am I early?" she asked.

"Early for what?" you asked.

"Your shower..." she said, frowning deeper.

"That's _next_ weekend, Ma," you said, your voice apologetic.

"Oh..." Dolores' face grew bitter and disappointed. "Are you sure?"

You nodded and rubbed the side of your belly. "Yeah, I'm sure... Julie sent you an invitation, right?"

"She did," your mom nodded. "I must have gotten the dates confused."

I took a little step back to watch the two of you in your tense, polite dance. Your mom looked flustered and you were trying to figure out what to do. Before anyone spoke, Dolores turned to go. "I suppose I'll see you next weekend, then..." she said, sighing.

"Don't be silly, Ma," you said, stepping towards her. "We were just about to have lunch. Stay. We can have our own little private baby shower today and then you won't have to drive up again next weekend if you're too tired or something."

It was a perfect plan. This way your mother wasn't excluded from the celebration, but she wouldn't have to feel uncomfortable in a room full of people who view our relationship differently than she does if she is "too tired" next weekend. You are so smart, Santana.

Dolores pursed her lips, mulling the offer over for a second before you added, "Brittany makes a mean Puerto Rican meatloaf and we have leftovers from last night. It's almost as good as Tia Rosa's."

Dolores gave you a weak, tentative smile before stepping back towards us. I couldn't believe it. Your mom was agreeing to have lunch in our house.

Your face lit up and I patted you on the arm, my anxiety flaring as I murmured that I'd get the food ready and set the table. On my way back to the kitchen, I tossed a few of Caleb's toys into their baskets and grabbed your empty water glass off the coffee table. It wasn't much, but I was so excited and nervous, I wanted to tidy up at least a little. If we had known your mom was coming over, we would have driven ourselves crazy cleaning all morning. Our house is far from filthy, but we would have wanted it to sparkle for her.

I preheated the oven and got the meatloaf out of the fridge. You had told me that your family "didn't believe in microwaving the family meatloaf recipe" so I wouldn't dream of doing it in front of your mom, even if I heated up slices for Caleb that way when you weren't looking.

I realized I hadn't offered your mom something to drink, so I rushed back into the living room and offered you both tea or water or juice or milk or wine. I was so nervous, I could have gone for a shot of vodka, but I didn't. Come to think of it, aside from a glass of wine with Julie while we celebrated her new apartment and reclaimed life a few weeks ago, I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a drink in our house. I guess it goes with your pregnancy.

You and your mom talked quietly in the living room in Spanish. Because you speak Spanish to Caleb, I'm picking up more and more, but it's slow. I can understand most of Caleb's Spanish words, but his sentences rarely go beyond three or four words. Your conversation with your mother, on the other hand, was hard for me to follow.

I heard you telling her you were a tired and your back and feet hurt. You said something about your dreams, but I couldn't understand what she said back to you. Her words seemed to snap more, not harsh or reprimanding, but from a place of authority or experience or fatigue.

After about ten minutes, during which I had made a salad and fresh-squeezed lemonade - although I knew you wouldn't drink it because the acid would make your heartburn flare up - I heard Caleb saying "Mama. Mama. Mama." He was trying to interrupt your conversation to talk to you, which he knows better than to do. But he was probably hungry, so he was forgetting his manners. Sure enough, when you paused, apologizing to your mom for the interruption, Caleb declared, "tengo _hambre_, Mama!" I could picture him patting his little belly to convey the urgency of his hunger. You assured him that Mom-ny was cooking and that lunch would be ready soon. Ten seconds later Caleb plodded into the kitchen to inspect my progress, looking around for the telltale signs he was about to be fed.

Out in the living room, I heard your mom murmur, "He calls you Mama." It wasn't a question, but a confused observation.

I let out a sigh that wasn't loud enough to be heard in the living room. I know your mom has different ideas about families, but it's been so long and I'm getting impatient with her. I want you to have a better relationship with her. She wants it too. She wouldn't have stayed for lunch if she didn't. But she doesn't realize she's the only barrier to you two being close. Children love their parents without reason, sometimes to a fault. Underneath everything, it's painfully clear to me how much you love your mom. You've been waiting your whole life for her to show she loves you back.

"Of course he calls me Mama," you said, your voice braced with patience. "He's my son."

There was a tense moment of silence during which I tried to think of any possible way to break the tension. Should I go out and offer to refill your drinks? Ask you to help me for a minute? But you were one step ahead of me, offering to show your mom the nursery Julie had transformed. Your mother's voice brightened as she agreed and I heard two sets of footsteps walking up the stairs.

Your mom must have liked the nursery, because you stayed up there until the meatloaf was ready. I had Caleb go tell you lunch was served, and the three of you came downstairs. I saw you were holding his hand as you walked into the kitchen, your mom studying you as you helped him into his booster seat.

That lunch was probably the most pleasant meal I've ever had with your mom. She said my meatloaf was "_almost_ as good as Tia Rosa's. _Almost_." I ventured to ask about her job, knowing we both worked in the medical field and might be able to find something in common. As it turns out, we have similar politics on end-of-life care. I love finding common ground with people who seem opposite from me. In this case, it felt like an enormous victory. I've never connected with your mom like that, and I was so grateful for it, even if it was completely unrelated to my life with you. It ignited a tiny flame of hope that, if we were to have a pleasant conversation again, we would find more things we had in common and maybe one day she would enjoy being around the two of us together.

After we ate, your mom told you to unwrap your gift. Inside was a pink infant cardigan with rhinestone buttons, and in the card was a gift certificate for a fancy spa in town. You smiled at her, cooing over the sweater and hugging her as you murmured your thanks in Spanish. Not wanting to push your luck, you stood and started shepherding her towards the door. As you said goodbye on the doorstep, I heard her say in Spanish, _I just can't wait to be a grandma._

I cringed at the words. She'd heard Caleb call you Mama. She'd sat with us and had a pleasant meal and conversation, watching as you helped Caleb hold his fork properly and wiped ketchup off his chin. But she was still clinging to her traditional understanding of parenthood and marriage, despite all the evidence that you, me and Caleb are a family.

There was a moment of silence and I pictured you taking a deep breath. Then, slowly, you started explaining with all the patience you would use with Caleb if he didn't understand something. You spoke in English because you knew I was listening.

"Ma, you already have a grandchild. Caleb is my son; my name's on his birth certificate and everything. I put him to bed most nights and when he gets upset, he wants me to hold him and calm him down. It's really important to me that you understand that." You paused and your mom didn't say anything, but I pictured her eyes darting about like yours do when you feel cornered. "I'm really excited to meet my daughter too, and I want you in her life. She needs her Abuela." I could hear a hint of smile in your words before your tone grew more serious. "But if want to be in her life, Caleb and Brittany come with her. Caleb is her brother and Brittany is her mom. Brittany and I built this family together, and it's the only one I'm going to have. I know it's not what you would have picked for me, but it's what I picked for myself because it makes me happier than anything else."

I couldn't hear what your mother said in response, but it couldn't have been something conclusive about whether or not she would agree to your "package deal" ultimatum. You sounded tired as you bid her goodbye and gave her a hug. You were disappointed at her hesitance, but not deeply wounded. This was how she'd always been; reserved and conflicted and stuck. You closed the door and came back into the kitchen, wrapping your arms around me and pressing your belly against my lower back as I stood doing the dishes. I dried my hands and turned to you, feeling all the tension flowing out of my body as I saw your calm smile. It wasn't a smile of victory or progress, but the kind of smile that comes after knowing you've done something good and important, however small. I kissed you to cement that feeling of doing good into both of our hearts. Because at the end of the day, no matter what your mother says or decides about being in our daughter's life, I know we are doing a good thing by bringing a child into a loving, happy family.

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><p>The baby shower Julie threw us was beautiful, and not nearly at kitschy as the one Elinor threw us when I was pregnant. It felt more grown-up, and I liked that she included men so our dads and Carlos and Denton could come. Everything from the decorations to food to entertainment felt older and more refined; it totally fit you. As predicted, your mother was <em>too tired to attend<em>, but your dad came, handing you a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and grinning stupidly as he put his hand on your belly.

We didn't need more stuff for our daughter; we'd kept all of Caleb's newborn clothes and supplies. But nonetheless, we were inundated with pink. Pink blankets, pink dresses, pink headbands, pink sweaters, pink booties, and pink stuffed animals were soon piled on the coffee table and around where you sat in the "princess" chair. Only Danielle seemed to get it; she gave us a breathtaking painting of sun streaming through tree branches. It almost looked like the orchards from our New England days. "Wow..." you breathed, examining the large canvas, "It's too beautiful, I'm putting this in _my_ office, not the baby's room!" The other guests murmured their agreement and you gave Danielle a kiss on the check with your thanks.

"Do you two have a name picked out yet?" Denton asked.

You looked at me. "We have one in mind," you hedged with a smile. "But we're not telling anyone because we need to make sure it fits."

There were a few nods, while others pouted and tried to guess. "I bet it's a unisex name like Spencer or Bailey or Peyton," Elinor said. "I think that'd be adorable."

You gave her a smug smile, indicating you weren't going to tell.

"If we guess right, will you tell us?" Hayley asked.

"Screw that," Elinor said. "If we come up with one you like better, will you use it?"

You giggled and shrugged.

Our friends and family started tossing out names, some of them sweet, some of them strange, some of them downright hilarious. After the laughter and excitement died down a bit, your dad suggested a name that made something in my chest flutter.

"Maia," he said with his usual warm, smooth voice as he stared directly at you. "With an I. That's what I wanted to name you."

Your smile faded as your eyes fluttered to your dad. I could feel how your stomach dropped and your heart clenched, hearing your dad talk about anticipating your birth. It was almost as sweet as watching him anticipate our daughter's.

"Your mother wanted to use a family name, so we went with Santana. And it turns out, you _were_ Santana," he grinned. "But I always loved the name Maia."

You gazed at your dad, nodding a bit before your eyes flickered to me. I knew Maia was definitely up for consideration.

Caleb had gotten restless while you were opening gifts, disappointed that none of them were for him. Carlos took him in the backyard, offering to entertain him for a while. You gave Carlos a relieved and grateful smile, and he scooped Caleb up, offering to play catch as they walked outside. Ten minutes later I went into the kitchen to refill a tray of quiche, and I saw your dad staring out the back door as Carlos tossed a ball back and forth with our son. Carlos was so gentle with his throws, and although Caleb didn't catch any of them, he smiled and encouraged him. Your dad stood watching with a soft smile, his hands in his pockets, lost in thought. Just as I refilled the tray and was about to head back into the living room, your dad turned to me and said quietly, "Carlos is a good man."

I tripped over his words for a second, because I suddenly realized he knew that Carlos was the donor for our son. But the calm, warm timbre of his voice assured me he would never breathe a word of it to your mom or you or anyone else. His smile told me he was happy. And because of that, I gave him a knowing smile in response, nodded, and turned back toward the living room.

After all the guests left, Julie and Elinor remained, tidying up as you had your third piece of lemon-raspberry and almond cake. I took Caleb upstairs for his nap and he fell asleep quickly, worn out by the hustle and bustle of having so many people around. I heard your soft, contented laughter as I went back down the stairs and took my spot on the couch next to you, laying my head on your shoulder, soaking up your happiness. Spending an afternoon being celebrated by our friends is exhausting, but makes me feel warm, like staying in a hot bath too long.

* * *

><p>A few weeks later I got a call from Julie, who was excited to tell me her plans to get her real estate license. She had gotten a job as an assistant to a successful realtor who was going to help her through the process. She was so bubbly and nervous, saying she didn't know how to start looking for daycare for Zoe. I knew Brenda didn't have any openings, but I gave her the number anyway, assuring her Brenda would know of other high-quality childcare facilities. Julie chirped her thanks and said she had to go because Zoe had opened the fridge and was pulling out all the jars she could reach and banging them with a spoon.<p>

I was about to call you to share Julie's good news when you called me. You asked how I was doing, but I could hear your voice was halting and you were forcing yourself through the motions of asking how I was. Instead of answering, I asked you what was going on. You exhaled and stopped trying to hide the fear in your voice, which actually made you sound less scared.

"Dr. Greene called and wants me to come in."

My heart raced. "Right now?" I said, my voice rising with fear.

"This afternoon, yeah."

"Did she say why?"

"No," I heard you swallow, "just that my test results came back and she needed to go over them with me." There was a moment of silence and I heard you trying to breathe slowly, but it was getting choked off. "Britt, will you come with me?"

"Of _course_," I heard myself say. I wasn't even thinking, I was just reacting. Right now all I could think about was being with you, one hand in yours and the other on your belly, trying to send all the health in my body into you. "What time?"

"Four o'clock."

I was so scared for you and our baby girl, but I didn't want to make you more scared. I wanted to calm you down. I knew my best chance of doing that was being with you. "Do you want me to come sit with you in your office until then?"

You took a gulping breath. "Yeah," you said in a quiet voice.

"Do you want me to bring the doppler?" I asked. I knew listening to the heartbeat wouldn't fix anything, but it's fascinating to watch the way your body relaxes when you hear our baby's heartbeat. If for no other reason than to calm you, I knew I should offer to bring it.

"Yes," you said, your voice urgent. "_Please_."

I flew through the house, collecting my purse and slamming into my shoes, grabbing the doppler and a bag of cashews in case you were hungry. You were buzzing with anxiety when I got to your office, greeting me in a hushed and nervous voice as you closed the door behind me. You immediately plugged in the doppler and held it to your belly, closing your eyes as you searched for the heartbeat. Finally we heard it, and you exhaled a bit.

"I can feel her moving, but I just like to hear her, too," you mumbled. You were still nervous.

Obviously something was serious if Dr. Greene wanted you to come in and talk about your test results. Those were the longest few hours of my life, sitting there with you in your office. I tried to make myself useful; getting you cups of water and offering to shred or file or take messages to other people. I would never want to work for you because you have very specific ways you like things done in your office, but one afternoon wasn't so bad when it was in service of keeping you calm.

At one point you just stopped and put your hand on your belly. You closed your eyes and I could see you almost shaking with worry. Nothing had changed, but you were letting yourself feel all the fear I could taste in the air.

"I just really hope she's okay," you whispered.

I put my hands over yours and hummed in response. There was nothing I could say or do to reassure you. It was the most helpless feeling in the world.

When we finally got to the hospital half an hour early, the receptionist greeted us with a smile not befitting the occasion. I wish someone could have given us a hint as to why we'd been called in, because we were both so terrified. It's an out-of-control feeling, knowing there is news to be delivered but not having a clue what it is. You were a wreck. More of a wreck than usual. Pregnancy is the ultimate loss of control, and that has been hard for both of us to experience. This hospital visit magnified all those feelings.

After the nurse took your temperature and blood pressure and weighed you, Dr. Greene took an extra ten minutes to meet us in the stuffy little exam room we had grown so familiar with. She smiled at us, but it was pressured. "Hello, mamas," she said, her voice a bit softer than usual. "How are we doing this afternoon?"

You nodded in response, not giving a real answer, your gaze darting about the room.

"I called you in because we got your test results back this morning and there are a few things I want to talk to you about."

You nodded again, clearly anxious for her to spit out whatever she had to tell us.

"Please just tell us," I said. The tension in my stomach and shoulders had grown unbearable.

Dr. Greene gave an apologetic smile. "Santana, it seems that your glucose levels are bit high, so I wanted to talk to you about managing it. I wanted to make sure I gave you both all the information you need to keep both you and your daughter healthy for the rest of your gestation. But rest assured, prenatal diabetes _is_ manageable."

My throat tightened with a wave of sickness. Diabetes, whatever the type, is a scary disease.

"What are the risks?" you demanded, your voice tight and forced as your eyes widened.

Dr. Greene let her voice soften as she explained that, if untreated, gestational diabetes can cause the baby to be very large at birth, have low blood sugar, and be at an increased risk for jaundice. As you listened, I saw your hand opening and closing, and quickly slid mine into it, grounding you and reminding you that you're not in this alone. Dr. Greene produced a stack of pamphlets and a list of advised foods, reviewing each one with us.

You swallowed. "So no more cake?" you asked, trying to make light of a serious situation.

Dr. Greene let out a sad chuckle. "No more cake..." she echoed.

There was a moment of quiet as she let us look over the pamphlets. For once, I was already in action mode, thinking about where to go to get the best glucose tests and how I could administer them with the least amount of cringing and wincing from you. I was scared, but a little bit relieved that there was something we could do to address the problem.

Dr. Greene took another halting breathe. "The other thing I want to address is your blood pressure."

I saw you shift and I knew you were bracing yourself for bad news.

"Unfortunately it's back up again, and now that you're almost eight months and have a diagnosis of gestational diabetes, we _really_ need to keep it down. So I'm putting you on bedrest again until you can get your blood pressure and glucose levels back down."

I saw you slump in your chair and I knew you were dreading returning to our bed. "Is there any way I can be a _little_ more active? Can I sit at my desk chair or something?"

Dr. Greene shook her head. "It's only for a little while," she said. "Pretty soon you'll have your beautiful baby girl and you'll be able to eat cake again. Just stick it out another six weeks or so."

You sighed and mumbled in defeat. And just when we thought things couldn't get worse, Dr. Greene told us she was going on vacation, but as long as you weren't more than two weeks early, she'd be here to deliver our daughter.

Your eyes went wide and your brows arched back a bit in fear. The constancy of Dr. Greene throughout both of our pregnancies has been a calming force for you, and the thought of having someone else deliver our baby terrified you. I knew another doctor would be just as skilled in delivery, but that wasn't the point. The point was your comfort. I patted your belly and tried to sound cheerful as I said, "Stay in there, baby girl." You held your belly too and I could see the tension in your hand as you prayed that you wouldn't go into labor early.

Assuring you everything would be fine if you put your health first, Dr. Greene turned to go, reminding you to call her if you had any questions about the advised foods list or permissible activity. I took you home and you were so annoyed and worried, you trudged up the stairs, curling into our bed and hiding your head under a pillow.

"I don't wanna do thissss," you groaned.

I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed your back. "Just six weeks, honey. You can do it. I'll be here with you and I'll try to make it fun." But it was a lackluster promise, because I knew no matter what I did, your bedrest wouldn't be fun.

And it _really_ wasn't fun. You were crankier than before, your voice whining down the hall or stairs, asking for more water or snacks and on occasion, you asked for chocolate cake just to relay to me how annoyed you were that you couldn't have the sweets you were craving. After an evening of particularly intense growling, I called Dr. Greene and asked if I could give you one cup of sugar-free chocolate pudding in the evenings. After I joked that I thought it would help lower your blood pressure by relieving the stress of your craving, Dr. Greene laughed and said that it would be okay. I even sprinkled a bit of sea salt on top, giving you that salty-sweet chocolate icing flavor you craved. Your shoulders finally fell and you looked at me like I'd brought you water after a day in the desert without it. I curled around you as you ate it voraciously, scraping the sides for every last drop.

You started having Braxton Hicks contractions a week after you were put on bedrest. You were thirty-five weeks pregnant, and determined to make it until Dr. Greene got back from vacation at thirty-eight weeks. Every time you had a contraction you'd stop what you were doing, put your hand on your belly, and murmur, "Not yet, baby. Not yet."

I checked your glucose levels several times a day, being sure to prick the side of your finger where it was less sensitive than the tip. Unlike Arlene's, your hands were smooth and unwrinkled, but I thought of her every time I checked you. I missed her, and missed working. But I was glad I was able to stay home with you and make sure you were resting between periods of work.

Aside from the pudding, Dr. Greene put you on a fairly narrow diet for the remainder of your pregnancy. In the morning you were limited to whole wheat toast, eggs, cucumbers, carrots, peanut butter and one small piece of fruit. I started making your breakfasts into little scenes that were more interesting than just food on a plate. I used carrot shavings to turn the eggs into little ducks and make it look like they were waddling through grass made of parsley. I would make two plates, one for you and one for Caleb. At first he thought it was the best thing ever and started quacking as he ate. But after a few weeks, he sighed when I put down eggs and toast and cucumbers. One time he even placed his head in his hands, as if being fed the same boring breakfast every day brought the weight of the world into his life.

I drove you to your weekly appointments and sat with you while the doctor filling in for Dr. Greene checked your glucose and weighed you and checked your blood pressure. To our surprise, at thirty seven weeks, he gave you permission to be a bit more active. For the first time in a few months, we were able to go on our regular date night.

I took you to your favorite restaurant, a fancy place downtown that had low lighting and candles and French food. The atmosphere is more your scene than mine, but the food _is_ good, so I don't mind going. I was happy to be out on a date with you. I felt very close to you as we walked inside and people eyed your adorable belly. I slid my hand into yours, making sure everyone knew who'd be holding your hand when you were in labor.

They sat us in the middle of the restaurant and we glanced over our menus. After we ordered, I looked at you, glowing warm in the dim light, every part of you round and soft and radiant. I was glad I'd had time to finish your gift. I couldn't wait to give it to you, and for a moment, I debated giving it to you now rather than after we ate. But I made myself wait, asking you how things were going training the woman who'd be filling in for you while you were on maternity leave. You said you were a bit anxious, but knowing that, aside from during the labor and birth, you'd be available via phone, you knew nothing too awful would happen. They brought us our food and we talked about Julie and the fact that my mom's sixtieth birthday is coming up and we needed to plan something. Halfway through your entree, you paused and put your hand on your belly and I heard you murmur with a hint more urgency, _Not yet, baby. _Your hands tensed until the contraction released, and you looked up at me, scared and asking for reassurance. I took your hand in mine. "You only have to do it once," I said. "And you can use whatever pain management works for you."

You nodded and looked down at your plate. I already knew you had opted for the "maximum legal limit of drugs" to manage your pain, but you still knew that wouldn't make it painless. The only thing I could do was remind you how strong you are. So I pulled out the gift I'd made you.

You glanced at me with apprehension as you slid the green ribbon off the wrapping, slipping your finger beneath the tape and lifting the crisp paper from the cover of the book. You turned it over, mouth already parted in wonder as you read the title, embossed in silver on the blue cover of the book: _The Bravest Person In the World_.

You opened the cover and your hand flew to your mouth. In the dim light of the restaurant, the candle reflected off the glossy paper of the book I'd made and had bound for you, so I couldn't see it clearly. But I knew what was on the first page. It was the picture of you standing next to our volcano in third grade, your smile hesitant but brave.

_Once upon a time in a town called Lima, there was a little girl named Santana..._

Your face scrunched up with tears as you turned each page, following my children's narrative of your life. I'd tried to include everything important, putting in a picture or ticket stub or, in a pinch, an image of a place or person I found online. I wrote about high school and how Brave Little Santana told all her friends that she was different, and didn't listen when people told her that loving another girl wasn't okay. I wrote about college and how Brave Santana made lots of friends and learned lots of new things and decided she wanted to spend her life helping people. I wrote about Law School and how Brave Santana learned even more new things and got her first job helping people. I wrote about how Brave Santana helped the woman she loved take care of her sick family, and how Brave Santana promised to marry that woman as soon as their marriage wasn't treated as different from other marriages. And I wrote about how Brave Santana worked very, very hard to get other people to agree that all marriages should be the same and no one should have to feel different. Other people _did_ agree and Brave Santana was very, very happy that she was finally allowed to marry the woman that she loved. They were so happy, in fact, that they got married right away, just before their first baby was born. A few years later they had another baby, and this time Brave Santana was the one to bring her into the world. And Brave Santana lived a very long, very brave, happily-ever-after with her family.

Several times as you read, you had to stop and wipe your eyes, closing the book to breathe and steady yourself. I hadn't meant for you to get so emotional, but I was happy you liked your gift. I just wanted to remind you how brave you are, because you are the first person to forget. Giving birth is just one of many brave things I know you'll do in your life.

When you finished, you closed the book and swallowed. Your voice was unsteady as you whispered, "Thank you, Britt." You sniffled for a moment. "I really love it. And you."

I took your hand again and squeezed, murmuring, "I love you too," before we turned back to our food. We ate quietly, aside from a few sniffles and questions from you about where I'd found all those pictures and how I'd gotten it printed and bound without you noticing. I gave you a shrug and said you could find just about anything on the internet and it was easy to do secret projects when your wife was on bedrest.

We finished our dinner and when the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, you sighed and said no thank you, your wife was sweet enough. I smiled, loving how no matter how many times you've told it, that joke never felt old. After we paid, you bent down to grab your purse and pull the strap over your shoulder. You stood, and as I pushed back my chair, I saw you clutch your stomach and gasp, "Oh, shit!"

I reached out to touch your arm and ask what was wrong, but as I did, I saw exactly what was wrong. There was a wet spot on the carpet under where you were standing.


	17. Battle

**A/N: Thanks for being patient! Last weekend I didn't update because... guess what! My betas Muriel and Frogs came to visit me in real life! And not just them, either. I got to meet a whole bunch of my Tumblr/FF friends over Pride weekend. It was amazing. I now have a tan line from my glitter tattoo of a rainbow unicorn on my bicep. Sexy.**

**But now I'm back with regular updates and exciting and scary stuff for our girls. Enjoy, and review if you do!**

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><p>Chapter 17: Battle<p>

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><p>People around us noticed right away that your water had broken and tried not to act shocked or grossed out. I thought you might be embarrassed it had happened in public, so I offered to flag down a waiter to clean up while you went out to the car. As I stooped down to wipe the floor, I saw one woman wrinkle her nose over her salad. I don't know why people think amniotic fluid is gross. It's really not. And it's not like you chose to have your water break in the middle of a French restaurant. It just happened.<p>

After I helped the staff clean under the chair, I met you outside. You were trying not to pant or gasp as you held your stomach, leaning against our car. You looked terrified. I thought maybe you were extra scared because you knew Dr. Greene wouldn't be able to deliver our baby and you thought you needed that security blanket of Dr. Greene. But I knew that you'd be fine without her. You're Brave Santana, remember? I put my hands on your shoulders and gave you a soft smile.

"Are you having a contraction?" I asked.

You shook your head, but your brow creased further in worry. After a moment, you spoke. Your voice was small and scared. "She wasn't supposed to come for another two and half weeks."

I just squeezed your shoulders. "If your water broke, she's ready." I gave you a brave smile. "She's anxious to get out and meet you face to face." I couldn't blame our daughter for that.

You didn't respond to what I said, your eyes flitting around the street. It was dusk, so the sky was still light, but cars were starting to turn on their headlights and the streetlights were flickering on at random intervals. It was actually kind of peaceful.

You didn't meet my eyes as you whispered, "I don't know if I can do this, Britt."

I stood up straight and confident and dipped my head to look you square in the eyes. "You can do this," I said. "I know you can." I didn't add the part about you not having a choice, but I didn't need to. You knew you had to give birth, you were just letting your fear speak for a minute. I was glad. When you don't let your fear speak, you get cut off from me and then we're both afraid.

My confidence didn't change your expression, but then I heard you let out a little hiss and press your hand to your side.

"Contraction?" I asked.

You nodded, shutting your eyes in an effort to will away the pain.

Something washed over me when I saw you tense up like that. It was a very calm, strong feeling, the same feeling I get when Caleb is scared and runs to me. There is nothing quite like it; I have energy to spare, but it doesn't buzz around me or make my thoughts spin. It does the opposite. It straightens my spine and fixes my gaze on whatever needs my attention. My calmness fans out around me like a rising tide, enveloping everyone in the room.

I remembered my contractions with Caleb and how I had gotten through each one. My voice dropped into what you call my lullaby voice.

"Count through it, sweetheart. It's just a wave of pressure getting you ready for the big event. One... two... three..."

You didn't count out loud with me, but I saw you dipping your head just slightly with each count. When I got to fifteen, you straightened up and looked me in the eye. "It's over," you said, even though I already knew.

"Okay, let's get home." I wanted you to be comfortable, which I knew wouldn't happen outside a restaurant in downtown Columbus. This was probably the place you'd feel least calm. You weren't going to be calm anywhere, but I wanted to get you home so you could at least have the comfort of our bed and bathtub and other familiar surroundings.

You had tried to create a birth plan multiple times throughout your pregnancy, but it had been harder than you had anticipated. I had been a bit annoyed at your constant pushing for a birth plan when I was pregnant with Caleb. I know you needed it to feel less nervous about the process, but trying to plan for something I'd never experienced was nearly impossible. I had no idea if I'd want to eat or drink or who I'd want in the room, because I had no idea how I'd be feeling. When you asked me to decide what kind of lighting I wanted or what I wanted to do with the placenta, it was very hard for me to make choices. I knew I wanted to do natural childbirth, but that was the only thing I had any kind of strong feelings about. And if I'd changed my mind in the middle of labor, that would have been okay. "How can I know what I'll want when I've never done this before?" I asked. But you pressed me to decide, promising I could change my mind if I needed to once I went into labor.

I think you had started to understand how hard it is to plan for the unknown when we sat down to do _your_ birth plan. With every choice, you weighed each option back and forth, more indecisive than I've ever seen you. You asked me if I'd liked the choices I'd made, and I gave you honest responses, while reminding you that what worked for me wouldn't necessarily work for you. You bit your lip and nodded and circled something on the page in pencil. The only thing you circled in pen was that you wanted to avoid a C-section at all costs.

You had woken up several times in the middle of the night during your pregnancy, startled and shaking before you reached for my hand or rolled toward me. I've always been a light sleeper, so I knew you were awake and scared. When I let you know I was awake, either with a squeeze on the arm or a kiss on the forehead, you whispered, "What if I have to have a C-section?" I would kiss you again or rub your arm and murmur, "Then you'll be just fine. Hundreds of women have C-sections every day and the mommies and their babies are fine." You'd nod, but I still felt the tension in your limbs, stiff against the mattress, so I would continue. "However the birth goes, I'll be there with you. And then we'll bring our baby girl home and come right back to this bed and snuggle her tiny little body between us. And everything will be right in the world." I'd paint some more future paradise moments and rub your belly until I felt your limbs soften and you drifted back into sleep.

We drove home from the restaurant and found Hayley and a pajama-clad Caleb sitting in the living room playing with Caleb's kitchen set. Hayley squealed when I pulled her aside and told her you were in labor. She asked if she could call mom and tell her to drive up. I said no, we had already called her, and besides it was _my_ wife in labor and _my_ daughter about to be born.

That was another part of the birth plan we knew for certain; Gramma Vickie and Grampa Gordon would take care of Caleb before and during our time at the hospital, making sure he never saw you in pain or bleeding or anything else that might give him nightmares. He's a sensitive boy, and we don't want him to think his baby sister is hurting you, even if she has to in order to be born. The only thing we want him to see is how happy we are to have our family complete, and to get to see her little face and find out her name. We won't bring Caleb into the room with us until you feel recovered enough to enjoy watching our son meet our daughter. We only get to experience that once. We only get to experience _most_ things about our children once.

You had quietly asked your dad to be there too, in the waiting room, but hadn't said anything to your mom. She had asked about being with you while you delivered, and you just glanced to the side and said that it would only be me and you in the delivery room. That was true, but you had left out the part about your dad being in the waiting room, and left it to him to finesse. I imagine she pursed her lips at your rejection and changed the subject. That's her response to most things.

Hayley agreed to stay with Caleb until my mom arrived, so we settled into our room to labor. Your contractions weren't intense at first, but you said they felt funny, not like your Braxton Hicks contractions had been. You said you felt them mostly in your back, as if you'd strained it and the muscles were screaming for a little while before the contraction let go. You would cringe and wince and look at me with a helpless, scared face until each one released. I'd just rub your arms or brush your hair or murmur something encouraging, counting with you. I kept telling you that the pain didn't mean something was wrong.

I don't know how we managed to keep Caleb unaware of your contractions, but we did. Shortly after my mom walked in the door, bringing her blustering, hushed excitement, Caleb went to bed without any fuss. When I went in for a minute to kiss him goodnight, I told him that Gramma would make him breakfast in the morning and tomorrow he might get to meet his baby sister. He didn't say much, just a sleepy "okay," as he snuggled Wabbit closer to his chest and yawned. I was glad he didn't get too excited, because I wanted him to sleep well.

You started a bath for yourself, but then decided you didn't want to take it. You went downstairs and made yourself a salad, but only ate a few bites. With one contraction, you braced yourself against the sink and started breathing really quickly, almost comically. I just stood next to you, rubbing your back and reminding you that nothing was wrong and that I would be there the whole time. After I got you to slow your breathing, you went back into our room and I made you some oatmeal, which I knew from your early pregnancy was easy for you to get down. You were getting hot, so you turned on the fan and sat on a pillow in your yoga pants and sports bra. You kept shifting your legs, trying to get comfortable. You were trying so hard, and I was so proud of you. I had been planning to time your contractions, but you took comfort in doing it yourself. It gave you something to do besides breathe and panic. That, combined with constant use of the doppler, kept you from pacing back and forth and hyperventilating.

As your labor progressed, you started getting more agitated. A few times you got so worked up, you went into the bathroom and threw up. I stood with you, holding your hair and giving you water to drink, rubbing your back just like I did eight months ago when we found out you were pregnant. It was a beautiful circle, even if it was unpleasant; eight months ago your stomach was a flat plane as you vomited, and now you were rounded and full and ready.

Every time you had a contraction, I felt my own body seize up, remembering how much it hurt. But I pushed the feeling away and forced calm down into my stomach and legs. I needed to be the breathing room, the space you could yell and panic into and have it absorbed. If I spent too much energy managing myself, I wouldn't be a very good birthing partner. And I wanted to be the best.

After a few more hours, you curled on the bed, closing your eyes and trying to block everything out. Your labor wore slowly on, peppered with vomiting and moaning and chanting numbers. After a trip to the bathroom to throw up for the sixth time, you looked at me with a sudden, desperate expression. "We need to go to the hospital now," you said.

I looked at your paper. Your contractions were still six minutes apart and weren't lasting more than thirty seconds. I gave you a sympathetic smile, indicating I understood, but told you we should wait a little longer until the contractions were closer together, otherwise the hospital would send us right home, and you didn't want to be going back and forth in the car.

"No, something's not right," you said. "I'm not just panicking, this is real. She feels funny. We need to go to the hospital."

You rarely listen to your instincts, even though they're good, so I took notice. "How does she feel funny?" I asked, putting my hand on your shoulder.

"She's not _down_ enough," you frowned, gesturing with your palms. "And she's lumpy here and here." You put your hands on your sides.

I reached out and touched your belly. Sure enough, our daughter was very lumpy on the sides. After waiting for only fifteen seconds, I felt her foot nudge my hand.

She was lying sideways.

You were right, we did need to go to the hospital right away. I felt my ocean of calm start to fray around the edges. Transverse babies aren't always an emergency, but the sooner we could get her turned and dropping into your pelvis, the shorter and less painful your labor would be. I really wanted your labor to speed along so we could meet the daughter you'd been so brave to carry.

I saw it was three in the morning as I put your hospital bag and the infant car seat in the car and told my mom we were leaving. As we drove to the hospital, your knuckles were white on the sides of your seat and door handle the whole way.

"Why did she turn?" you demanded. "She was in the perfect position a few days ago!"

I ran my hand over your thigh, humming that I didn't know, but that the doctors would take care of you. I tried to make a joke about the baby doing yoga, but you didn't think it was funny. I decided humor was probably not the best tactic while you were in labor, even if that works in other situations.

The car ride was quiet, aside from a bit of hissing as you had contractions. I murmured numbers to you and reminded you the pain didn't mean something was wrong. As I pulled into the multi-story parking garage, I took your hand. I needed to show you I was still calm, still focused on you, despite the unexpected turning of our baby. After parking, I sat still for a moment, holding you with me. "When we leave, we'll have our daughter with us," I murmured. You looked at me with a quivering smile that was cut short by a contraction, which made you bend forward and groan.

We didn't have any trouble checking in, but you seemed alert and wary of the starkness of the hospital room you were put in. After sitting for no less than a minute with the monitors strapped to you, you threw up. Hospitals are not comfortable places, and that's coming from a nurse. If I were going to deliver Caleb over again, I'd go to a birthing center and give birth in a pool of warm water with the help of a midwife or doula. I'd like that much better than a noisy, fluorescent-lit hospital. I had almost suggested looking into a birthing center for your labor and delivery, but after thinking about it for less than a minute, I remembered that you are the most anxious person I know. Being in a hospital surrounded by doctors and life-saving machines would be more calming to you than being in a tub of warm water.

We were _far_ away from the calmness a tub of warm water would bring in that delivery room. Nurses bustled in and out, muttering and informing each other about turning the baby and getting the doctor in here for the procedure. Your head was following each of them, turning in little jerks**,** your whole, rounded body on high alert.

Dr. Stevens, Dr. Greene's stand-in, came in and examined you. My heart picked up when I saw him frown as he felt your belly. I wish I had taken him in the hall and told him the best way to talk to you so you wouldn't start freaking out. But I didn't think to do that.

Without even greeting you, he started talking. "Okay, we're going to turn her so that we can get this labor moving. There's going to be a lot of pressure. Just hang in there."

I don't think 'just hang in there' was the best advice for a doctor to give you.

A team of nurses and doctors formed around you, hands on your belly, pushing into your skin and muttering between them about where they felt our baby's limbs. You started gasping and cringing and looking around at their faces, desperate for someone to explain to you what was happening. You sucked air in through your teeth when Dr. Stevens braced his feet on the floor with his hands on your stomach.

I stepped in, trying to distract you because it was the only thing I could do. "Baby, just squeeze my hand. Think about my hand in yours. Put all your focus on your hand."

Focusing on parts of my body where the pain _wasn't_ helped a little during my labor. But you probably hadn't had enough practice at it, because as the doctor pushed especially hard against the side of your stomach, you opened your mouth and screamed. A gut-wrenching, piercing scream I had never heard before. After you screamed, you yelled, "Stop! Stop!"

I was stunned when the the doctor shook his head in apology. "Almost there," he grunted. My stomach churned and my limbs went icy as you screamed again before he stopped pushing. He kept his hands on your belly, mapping our daughter's limbs and torso to make sure she was in position.

He left without comment. Your chest was heaving as you tried to recover from the forced shifting inside you. I was really uncomfortable and looked around the room to see if anyone else thought Dr. Stevens was out of line. I didn't like how he didn't listen to you at all, even when you were screaming because he was hurting you. Sometimes pain can't be avoided, but doctors aren't supposed to disregard such adamant requests when a life isn't in danger. But you were calmer and I didn't want to get you worked up by voicing my concerns.

You fell back into the rhythm of your labor. Your contractions started getting more intense. You quickly asked for drugs, which they administered, but the drugs only served to make you feel more disoriented, which I think heightened your anxiety. You asked me to explain everything going on around you, even things I thought were obvious, like "the nurse is going to check how dilated you are now," and "the baby is still in position." I used my lullaby voice the entire time, narrating what was happening as the doctors and nurses popped in and out of the room.

I don't understand why having a baby has to be so painful. There are some animals that give birth almost painlessly. I remember when I was little, my parents took me to the zoo and read all the informational signs to me. They told me that baby pandas are about the size of a stick of butter at birth. Considering how big pandas are, I doubt it hurts them at all to pop their babies out. I wished you could be a panda just for these few hours of your life. But then our baby would be way too small, so maybe that's not such a good idea.

It ended up not being just a few hours of labor, though. We'd been admitted at three thirty in the morning, and by noon, you were only dilated to seven centimeters. The epidural helped a little, but the procedure got you very worked up. You were groaning and sweating, even though you were subdued by the drugs and exhaustion. Because your blood pressure was so high and because you had been in labor so long, they gave you an oxygen tube, draped under your nose. You hated the idea, but once the air started flowing, you relaxed a little. You kept asking for ice chips, which I walked in and out getting, giving reports to my mom and our dads. You asked me if your mom was there, and I reminded you that you hadn't invited her. You nodded, looking relieved. Elinor was there for a little, and when I told you she'd used her lunch break to come visit you, you gave me a tired smile and asked to talk to her for a minute. I waited outside the door until I heard you groaning, "Britt..." as Elinor ducked out with a hushed, excited smile.

At five o'clock, you were dilated to nine centimeters and my dad went to get Caleb from Hummingbird's Nest. We had really hoped he would be able to come right to the hospital to meet his baby sister, but his baby sister was taking her sweet time. You cursed your slender hips for the first time in your life, even though I kept reminding you the size of your hips had nothing to do with it. You were drenched in sweat, hair matted around your face and against your neck. "It hurts, Britt! There's no way she's gonna come out!"

"I know it hurts, sweetie. Squeeze my hand. You only have to do this once." With my free hand I patted your face with a damp washcloth.

"Do something, Britt!" you pleaded as a contraction seized you.

I strengthened my hold on your hand and told you the honest truth. "I'm doing all I can, sweetheart."

When the contraction released, you slumped back against the bed. "I feel like I've been here for a week and nothing's happening," you gasped. "I've been stuck at nine centimeters for two hours!"

"I know, baby… but sometimes it happens suddenly. Just keep breathing. I'll make sure you get the best care possible."

Half an hour later, Dr. Stevens strolled in, chin tucked as he examined your chart. He didn't even make eye contact before he launched into his speech. "Well, Miss Lopez, you've been in labor for about twenty-four hours now, so at this time I'm going to recommend that we perform a cesarean. I'll cue up the surgical team and we'll wheel you into surgery."

Your face went from an expression of dazed pain to absolute panic. "Cesarean?" you panted.

Dr. Stevens shurgged. "It's a standard procedure and you'll be nice and numbed up before we make any incisions. Some women actually prefer it –"

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. I couldn't believe what was going on. "First of all, my wife's last name is Lopez-_Pierce_. Second of all, she didn't consent to a cesarean, so hold off on 'cueing up' the surgical team and prepping the syringes. We want to talk about it first."

He looked a little startled, but then defensive. He held up his hand. "Well, if you want to go against a physician's recommendation, that's your choice." He left the room, his lab coat swirling behind him.

I turned to you and saw you were starting to hyperventilate. "S, can you hang in there for one minute while I ask him some questions?"

"I think so," you panted, cringing from head to toe with the start of another contraction. "Britt, I want this to be over but I'm terrified of having a C section! You know I hate being out of control and having someone cut me open and-" You trailed off in a panic before panting, "I don't want to do it!"

My heart clenched, hearing you voice your fear so plainly and honestly. "I know, sweetie. Count through the contraction and breathe. You're doing _so_ great. I'll send my mom in." I squeezed your hand again and darted through the door after the doctor. "Dr. Stevens!" I called. He turned back to me.

"Miss Lopez-_Pierce_," he mocked.

"_Nurse_ Lopez-Pierce," I corrected. "Is there a medical reason you're recommending my wife have a cesarean?"

"It's been a difficult labor," Dr. Stevens said.

"Is there a _medical_ reason? There's no miconium, so is there some other indication the fetus is in distress? Is my wife in danger?"

"Well, there's always the possibility…" he hedged.

I may not have been a nurse for very long, and I may never have worked in a hospital, but I was pretty sure I knew what was going on. I felt my face burning with anger. "So the cost to the hospital for an extended labor has nothing to do with it?" I pressed, squinting at him with my hands on my hips.

Dr. Stevens avoided eye contact, flipping through a few pages on his clipboard. "You know… I think we should give your wife a few more hours and see if she can power through," he backtracked.

I gave a satisfied nod. It was the closest I'd ever been to correcting a physician and I was proud I had been able to stand up for you. "Is there another delivery doctor on call right now?" I asked. I didn't wanted Dr. Stevens anywhere near our baby girl.

"Dr. Meyers is here."

I braced my shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. "I think my wife would prefer Dr. Meyers deliver our baby. Thank you for all your help, Dr. Stevens." I turned and walked away, not waiting for his response.

I got back in the room and saw my mom standing by your side, stroking your face under the oxygen tube and murmuring encouragement, just the way she did for me. I know in a perfect world it would be _your_ mom, excited for you to bring her second grandchild into the world. But it makes me happy to know that you don't mind borrowing my mom when you need one.

My mom helped you breathe through a contraction, murmuring _good, good_, before looking at me with a smile, turning over the task of breathing and murmuring. I felt proud in a way I didn't expect to, like my mom was acknowledging my own maternal abilities on a new level. It made me stand a little taller as I took my place next to you.

"What did he say?" you asked in the thirty seconds between contractions, brow creasing under the wet washcloth my mom had placed on your forehead.

"He said that you're a fighter and that at this point, you don't have to have a C-section if you don't want to," I murmured. "And he also said he thinks Dr. Meyers would be a better fit for your delivery because Dr. Meyers is not an asshole."

You gave me a weak, grateful smile. "When is our baby gonna be here, Britt?" you mumbled. "How long has it been?"

I ignored your second question, knowing it would only freak you out to know you'd been in labor for over a day. "Maybe she realized how awesome her little jacuzzi is," I said with a smile, putting my free hand on your belly. "She was excited to come out and meet us but now she's realizing she has a pretty sweet deal in there."

You gave me a pained smile. "She _better_ come out," you said. "I can't keep going like this for much longer."

I tried to wrap you in my calm as you kept laboring. Between contractions, there wasn't much to do besides sit with you and think to myself how beautiful you are. I know it sounds saccharine, but I really did feel that way. Watching you getting ready to birth our child made me so proud to be with you. It was the same feeling I got when I married you, and when you held Caleb for the first time, and when I saw you marching in the Pride parade.

But soon your contractions were so intense and so frequent, there wasn't much time for admiring you. At nine thirty you started getting really agitated and said you felt pressure. "I think... I think I need to push," you said, your face set with worry as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows. "I just feel-" You stopped yourself abruptly, face screwing up as a contraction seized you.

A nurse came in and I asked her to check you. Sure enough, you were finally at ten centimeters and she gave you permission to start pushing with the next contraction. My heart fluttered and I gave you a big smile. It was time.

You looked up at me, panic falling across your face like a shadow. I don't know if you reached for my hand or if I offered it, but I felt you squeezing before I realized you were holding it. That handhold was the most important thing in the room to me. Of course the baby was the focus and the goal, but that handhold was about me and you, bringing her into the world. It was the only thing I could do to help. As long I held your hand, everything would be okay.

I gave you a confident nod and planted my feet firmly on the ground. I felt that stability spreading up through me, through my arm, into you. I was ready and excited and above all, I was strong for you.

I saw you seize up and braced myself. I started counting as you bore down, face contorted with effort. When I got to ten, you released, but kept your eyes closed. After a few minutes of pushing, Dr. Meyers came him. He used a soft, gentle voice as he introduced himself and went over your chart. He didn't make much eye contact, but he didn't seem self-important like Dr. Stevens.

We repeated our chanting counts and breathing over and over, with several nurses flowing in and out of the room at all times. My hand was numb from being squeezed and I was sure there would be a bruise where my wedding ring cut into the side of my finger, but it was a small price to pay for feeling so close to you as you pushed. The muscles in your neck strained and you gasped and sweated, determined but exhausted. After one push you slumped back, looking defeated. She wasn't even crowning. I looked at the clock and saw you'd been pushing for half an hour.

"What's taking so long?" you asked. "What's happening?" Your head rolled back and forth a bit, and it worried me to see you so disoriented. I wanted to shake you back into coherence. But I reminded myself that I was pretty disoriented during my labor, and I hadn't had any drugs and I hadn't pushed for as long as you'd been pushing. I told you what a great job you were doing and encouraged you to keep going.

Every wave of _contraction, push, rest, contraction, push, rest_ felt endless. It was frustrating, knowing you were so close but not knowing how much longer you'd have to struggle. Emotionally, it felt like standing on my tiptoes for days. I couldn't imagine what it felt like for you. I was in absolute awe of your stamina.

Time ticked by second by second. My legs were starting to ache and I had lost feeling in most of my left arm. You broke into sobs after an hour and a half, declaring you were done and they could do their stupid C-section if they wanted. I wiped your face and took it between my hands, trying to center you. "Do you really want the C-section?" I asked. I made my words serious and low, demanding an honest answer.

You closed your eyes and shook your head. "I just want it to be over," you said, your words so slurred I could barely understand them.

I nodded. "It's not going to last forever," I murmured. "Let's keep going so we can meet her."

After another half hour the nurse gave you a triumphant smile and declared our daughter was crowning.

"She's right there, Santana. I can see her. She's got a full head of jet-black hair and she can't _wait_ to meet you. You're _so_ close!"

I had to look. I could see the crest of our baby's head, with matted, bloody hair bulging at your opening. You really were at the tail end of the birth. I was so excited, my whole chest fluttered and I rocked up on my feet, looking back at you.

I was glad we had such a cheerful, encouraging nurse. You smiled for the first time in hours, and your next few pushes had more fuel behind them. But you had lost steam a while ago. I don't blame you. Pushing Caleb out was the most exhausting thing I've ever done, and I only pushed for twenty minutes. You had been pushing for two hours.

After five more pushes, the nurse started getting more animated. She walked over to the phone and, in a hushed voice, asked for the doctor to be sent in. She walked back to us, sitting between your legs with her hands in position. "Okay, here we go, Mamas. This is it. Dr. Meyers is on his way."

You could only nod as you collected whatever shreds of strength you had left. As soon as Dr. Meyers was seated between your legs and the machines around you signaled your contraction was starting, you grunted and hunched forward, determined.

Dr. Meyers didn't make eye contact, but at least he spoke to you with an encouraging voice. "Great work. Great, great, keep going."

You went through two cycles of pushing before I heard a liquid slipping and saw the nurse's hands moving alongside the doctor's.

"That's the head, Santana!" the nurse declared. I looked down and saw our daughter's head, squished and purple and caked in fluids as the nurse suctioned out her nostrils and wiped her face and head off. I felt tears pushing up through my throat, burning in my eyes. She was almost here. She was real.

I leaned back up to you. "Oh my God, Santana, she's perfect."

"She's gorgeous," the nurse agreed. "Do you want to see?"

You'd been offered a mirror when you started crowning, but you had shaken your head. You're easily upset by blood and gore, so it didn't surprise me that you said no at first. But I was shocked when you nodded this time. Your mouth moved like a fish a few times and I thought you mumbled, "My baby..."

The nurse handed you a mirror and you took it in your free hand. You tilted it so you could see what was happening between your legs, and when you saw our daughter's head, you started shaking and crying. "Oh my God," you sobbed. "Oh my God, she's here."

"Just a few more pushes," the nurse reminded you. "You got the head out, that's the hardest part. A few more pushes and you can hold her."

I have never seen you collect as much strength in such a short period of time as you did then. You set down the mirror and gripped the arm of the bed, curling forward as you prepared for the next contraction. When it came, you let yourself growl, putting forth your most gargantuan effort yet. The noise ripped through you, and as it did, I looked between your legs and watched as our baby girl was delivered into the world in a rush of blood and mucus.


	18. Jewel Heart

**A/N: Thanks Muriel and Frogs!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 18 - Jewel Heart<strong>

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><p>Even as a nurse, seeing so much blood come out of you was a bit alarming. But I wasn't focused on that; I was absolutely captivated by the tiny girl being wiped off and handed up to you. You were sobbing as she was placed on your chest like we planned. You closed your eyes and snuggled her as close to you as you could, one hand behind her head and the other under her butt as she wiggled and whined. She was the smallest person I'd ever seen; definitely smaller than Caleb had been, but just as beautiful. Her skin was ashy and wrinkled and her head was squished and purple, but as I looked at you holding her, I was crushed by a tidal wave of love. I'd almost forgotten the instant, overwhelming feeling I had for Caleb the moment I saw him, but seeing our daughter for the first time, I felt it all over again. I remember the first thing you said after Caleb was born: "Brittany, he's <em>perfect<em>," and that's how I felt now. Our daughter is _perfect_. Seeing you so overjoyed to hold her made her even more perfect. I didn't know who was more beautiful.

I realized you weren't holding my hand anymore when some of the feeling started seeping back up my forearm. Not wanting to miss anything about our daughter, I extended my other hand, resting it on her back, feeling her quiver as she sputtered and wailed against you. The doctor and nurse were talking, but I didn't hear any of it. The only sounds I heard were the furious wails of our baby and the raspy sobs coming from your throat. I felt you both vibrate through my arm as I felt the sticky, soft skin of our daughter for the first time.

I don't know how long I stood there, feeling you both cry as my own hot tears fell down my face. But I do remember the nurse asking me if I wanted to cut the cord. I gave her an emphatic nod, picking up the surgical scissors and delicately slicing through the bloodied tube. I knew it wouldn't hurt you, but I still felt an urge to apologize or something. Cutting the cord seems a harsh way to disconnect you from the baby, especially so soon after the birth. But you barely noticed, all your attention set on our daughter's face.

After a few minutes, you wiped your eyes and looked up at me, as if you had just realized I was there. "Want a turn?" you asked.

I nodded and the nurse handed me a blanket before I stooped to pick up our precious little girl. Wrapping her in the blanket, I looked at her face and started crying harder. She was so tiny. Her eyes were mere slits and her brow was wrinkled in displeasure, but I could already tell she's going to be just as beautiful as you. She has your hair - tons of matted, jet-black tufts - and your tiny ears and nose. Her eyebrows were mere wisps, and her lips were full and pouty. As her arms jerked and as she wiggled against me, I had the overwhelming desire to say thank you. To you, to the nurses, to the doctor, to God, to our anonymous donor, to anyone who had even the slightest part of bringing her into the world. The gratitude I felt weighed impossibly heavy on me. I couldn't help but think that if I could keep her safe and healthy her whole life, I could never want for anything more.

While you delivered the placenta, they took our daughter and bathed and measured her. The doctor had to stitch you up for a while. He said you had torn pretty badly, but you just nodded and barely made eye contact, watching as our daughter flailed across the room on the scale. "Six pounds exactly," the nurse proclaimed. "So petite!"

The nurse handed our squirming daughter back to you, wrapped in a pink blanket and cotton cap, saying you could try to feed her if you were planning to breastfeed. You had planned to try, and I was anxious to see how it was for you, especially because of your implants. Most women with augmented breasts can breastfeed, but I didn't know if it would hurt or feel strange. I didn't want you to be miserable because of it like I was. But the first few days I fed Caleb weren't bad. I felt very close to him and was happy to nourish him with everything I had.

You took our baby back in your arms and before slipping your hospital gown down over your breast, you peppered her tiny, now-clean face with kisses. "I love you more than you'll ever know, Princess," you whispered.

That made me cry even more.

When you did try to feed her, she was finally soothed. She sucked intently for a moment, her body ceasing its jerking and her cries quieting as she gurgled and snuffled against you. You looked down at her in utter adoration, and if you felt any discomfort, you didn't show it. Watching you feed her felt like watching something sacred. I didn't want to move, lest I disturb your much-deserved tranquility.

After the doctor and nurse left, we were finally alone with our baby. I turned the lights low and the quietness of the room as our daughter ate was such a relief, my body started to unwind. I felt tired for the first time in two days. As our daughter lay in your arms, I felt my eyelids start to droop. I imagined everyone in the waiting room was tired too - it was almost midnight and they had been here since the early morning.

"Should we let our parents in?" I asked.

You sighed. "In a minute..." Your gaze never left our baby, studying every inch of her as she slept. "I think she needs a name first."

In all my joy over finally meeting her, I had forgotten that our daughter still needed a name. "Is her name Eden or Maia?" I asked.

You shook your head. "No." You looked up at me and took my hand in yours. "Those names are pretty, but I want her name to be about you and me." You stroked your thumb over my wedding ring, an absent-minded gesture you'd done a thousand times. But this time your thumb caught on the gemstone, which had flipped to the underside of my finger during your two hours of pushing. Your head jerked up as you looked at me with a smile, your eyes flashing as if you'd had an epiphany. "Ruby."

I felt a rush of _yes_ bubble up through me towards you, and I bent over, kissing your lips before delicately kissing our daughter's head.

"Hi, Ruby," I whispered.

She let go of her latch with a slurp and gave a confused gurgle before trying to find your nipple again.

"Sorry," I smiled. "Didn't mean to interrupt your meal."

You helped Ruby latch on again and she kept eating.

"What about a middle name?" I asked.

"You choose," you murmured, tearing your gaze away from our baby to glance up at me with a smile.

I felt very important, being given the task of picking her middle name. I know I'm important to you and to her, but choosing something that will be with her for her whole life is a big job. Since we had already agreed on either Eden or Maia, I wanted to pick one of those. Eden means paradise, and I hope our daughter has many paradise moments in her life. Maia is special to you because of your father, and since Caleb got your father's name as his middle name, it made sense that our daughter would get something of his too. But they were both beautiful names and I couldn't decide. So in my head, I listened to how _Ruby Eden Lopez-Pierce_ sounded. It was pretty. But not as beautiful as our daughter is. Then I tried _Ruby Maia Lopez-Pierce_, and that chimed in my ears and my heart.

Ruby Maia Lopez-Pierce.

"Maia," I said. "Ruby Maia Lopez-Pierce."

You looked up at me and blinked as you tried not to scrunch your face with tears. You started crying, trying not to shake as Ruby ate.

As soon as Ruby was done eating, they had us sign the birth certificate. Halfway through signing my name on the "parent number two" line, I looked up at you, smiling with pride. If it hadn't been for your hard work on the marriage equality bill, I wouldn't have been able to sign Ruby's birth certificate, and you knew it. You grinned back at me, a few tears glistening in the corners of your eyes. It was a mirror image of what we had done while signing Caleb's birth certificate.

Shortly after, you said you were ready for visitors, but only one at a time. Your dad was first, and I watched as his gaze drifted back and forth between you and Ruby, in absolute awe. He cried when you put her in his arms, and his free hand drifted between his heart to his mouth. She looked impossibly small in his arms, and when she started to fuss, he murmured to her in Spanish. Then he looked at me and apologized before translating into English. He's always been very considerate about that with me, but I felt like it was silly for him to translate this time. Maybe I didn't understand every word, but I knew he was saying that he loved Ruby and was proud to be her 'Wello. The exact words didn't matter.

Next was my dad, who was taking his turn in the waiting room while my mom was at our house with a sleeping Caleb. My dad did a good job of keeping his booming enthusiasm to a whisper. He didn't cry, but his face almost cracked in half with his smile. He kept stroking her cheek with his knuckle, saying her name over and over. "Ruby, Ruby, Ruby..." When she started fussing, he handed her to me. But she kept fussing until I handed her to you, and then she quieted, even though you weren't feeding her. It made me a little sad that I couldn't calm her down, but I reminded myself I have plenty of time for her to get to know me and learn that I can take care of her just as well as you can. But I loved her so much already, I was impatient for her to understand that.

My sister was next, and she was almost as quiet as your dad, though she had more to say about our daughter. She commented on everything in an excited, adoring whisper; how much hair Ruby had, how cute and wrinkled she was, how grumpy her face looked, how she had baby fuzz all over her skin, and how tiny her ears and nose were. She cooed and fawned over her and said she wished she could quit her job and come back to being our nanny just to spend all her time with the most perfect little girl in the world. My instant thought, which I kept to myself, was that I was elated I hadn't taken on another job so I could spend the next few months with Ruby.

After Hayley left, the nurses rolled in a little cot for me to sleep on. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, and I'm sure I was smiling. It felt like ten minutes later my mom bustled into the room. "Where's my granddaughter?" she demanded. I couldn't decide if I was bursting with pride or overwhelmed with annoyance at the way my mom woke us up. She marched over to Ruby's crib and gasped, a smile breaking across her face. You had half-roused from sleep, your eyes still hooded as you watched my mom lift our baby girl and hold her to her chest, humming and starting to shake with joyous tears.

"Ruby Maia, you perfect little jewel," my mom sang. "You gave your mamas quite a hard time coming into the world, didn't you?" she smiled down at our daughter in her arms. "It's okay, doll, they think you were worth it..." She kept up her one-sided conversation for a few more minutes before setting Ruby down and kissing her forehead. Then she walked over to you and cupped your face in her hands, praising your hard work and congratulating you. Then she came over to my bed and hugged me full-force, smothering me and telling me she knew I'd be a great mom to a girl. Then she scampered out, saying she wanted to rest up for her big trip to the zoo with Caleb later that day. You and I instantly fell back asleep.

I woke up a few hours later to the sounds of Ruby snuffling against you as she ate. You were looking down at her, but you weren't smiling.

"What's wrong?" I asked, wiping my eyes.

"She looks kind of yellow," you frowned. "Do you think something's wrong?"

Most babies go through a variety of colors after birth, and as long as Ruby wasn't blue, I wasn't panicking. But as I got up and walked over to compare her skin to yours, I realized she _did_ look pretty yellow. In fact, she looked like someone had drawn all over her in highlighter. My stomach started to twist. I walked out into the hall and asked if someone could come check on my wife and baby.

As soon as the nurse saw Ruby, she frowned. "Yeah, let's have the doctor take a look at her, why don't we. She's not looking so great."

Again, I wished I had told her how to talk so she wouldn't freak you out, but I hadn't done that. The nurse who helped with the delivery had been very perceptive and gentle, so I wasn't as vigilant as I should have been with the rest of the staff. I told myself that for the rest of our stay, I'd make sure to warn anyone who talked to you that you are a very anxious person.

The doctor came in and looked at Ruby. He didn't frown, but he pursed his lips and nodded, saying he wanted to run some tests. As they put Ruby in her clear plastic bassinet and wheeled her away, you started hyperventilating. "What's wrong with my baby?" you demanded between gasps, sitting up straight with your hands clutching the railings of your bed. "What's wrong with my girl? Why are they taking her?" Your panic wound my insides up tighter and I started to flush cold. I wrapped your hand in mine and stroked it for a moment, looking at the door before I decided to follow the doctor down the hall. I was a nurse, so I could do that, right? I wasn't sure, but I trotted after him.

"Can you tell me what you're testing her for?" I asked, trying to be polite and not sound panicked. I'm not sure it worked, so I added, "I'm a nurse. My wife is panicking and I can explain it to her in the way she'll hear it best." I didn't tell him how scared I was. I probably didn't need to.

The doctor gave me an appreciative nod. "The test is just a formality, but it looks like your baby has a pretty severe case of jaundice," he explained. "We'll draw a little blood to determine if her liver is functioning properly and then let you know."

My stomach had been in a knot before, but now the knot felt more defined. I knew that neonatal jaundice was common, but the severity was not a good sign. I swallowed. "Will you please be extra gentle explaining everything to my wife? She's a nervous wreck."

The doctor nodded as he reached the elevator. "Certainly. I'll be down in a bit."

And with that he walked into the elevator, taking our baby with him.

I felt sick. It was a good thing the elevator doors closed quickly, because if I'd been given another second to react, I'd have tried to follow him to the NICU lab. The images that flashed through my mind of what was about to happen were horrifying; my baby girl with needles stuck into her, drawing blood as she wailed for her Mama, unsoothed by the gloved hands of the lab technicians and doctors around her. She would be so alone, while you and I sat together, helpless and beside ourselves with worry. It was the worst scenario I could imagine.

Slowly, I trudged back to our room. I didn't want to be the one to tell you our daughter was sick. But you needed to know, and you needed to hear in the way I knew was best to tell you. As I approached the door to our room, I took a few deep breaths to steady myself.

As I walked in, you repeated your demands for information about our baby. I couldn't look at you as I answered, but I had enough control to make my voice almost unwavering. "They're running some tests. The doctor thinks she has jaundice which is very common and treatable."

"But serious, right?" you said, your voice still wanting for breath. "They wouldn't have whisked her away like that if it weren't serious!"

I nodded. "It is serious. But treatable," I stressed.

"What is it?" you demanded. "What is jaundice?"

"It's um- it's a liver thing," I managed to say. "She looks yellow because she has too much bilirubin in her blood."

"There's something wrong with her _blood_?" you gasped. "What are they doing to her? When will we get her back? I need her back!" You pulled the blankets back from over your legs and slipped down off the bed. "I have to be with her!"

You were still unsteady on your feet and I darted forward to support you. "Careful!" I said, catching you as you almost fell. "The doctor will come talk to us soon, he promised. They're just testing her."

"Testing her _blood_?" you panted. "Britt, she weighs _six_ _pounds_, she doesn't have enough blood to _test_!"

My throat was tightening and I felt as if you were accusing me of bleeding our daughter to death. I knew you were just scared and taking it out on me, but it was hard to hear.

But then you turned your accusations on yourself. "Oh God, did I do something wrong? Did I eat the wrong things? Was I breathing dirty air or using the wrong shampoo? Is there something wrong with my milk?" Your face was panic-stricken and ashy as your eyes darted about the room. You were trying to pace, but it was hard with me supporting you.

I didn't know why Ruby had jaundice, but I knew it wasn't your fault. "No, you did everything right. Caleb turned a little yellow a week after he was born, but he was fine, remember?" I was grasping at straws, but I would try almost anything to calm one of us down.

"Oh God, what if she has to stay in one of those incubators and we don't get to take her home?" you said, your eyes widening as you started gasping for air. "Britt, what if we have to take turns sleeping here with her for months like those babies you see in hospital commercials?"

You were hyperventilating and spinning out of control. I couldn't get you to sit on the bed, even though I was trying. You kept batting my hands away, hysterical. Finally I just pressed the button for the nurse. I tried to get you to breathe slower as I waited, but you were inconsolable.

I was so relieved to see the nurse who delivered Ruby, Nurse Hilary, pop her head in the door.

"What's going on, Mamas?" she asked, her expression turning concerned when she saw you out of bed and gasping.

"They took Ruby," I said. "We don't know anything and we - we're kind of freaking out." I explained. "She just got whisked away."

Nurse Hilary gave us a concerned nod. "Let me see what I can find out. Brittany, see if you can get her to drink some water," she said, nodding towards the pitcher and cup next to your bed.

As Hilary punched buttons on the phone by the door, I tried to pour you some water. My hands were shaky as I held it to your lips. You shook your head at first, but then relented when I held it there for a moment. Hilary is a smart lady, because getting you to drink water made your breathing slow down so you could swallow. We heard Hilary murmuring into the phone and a few moments later she walked over to us with a confident smile.

"Okay, Mamas, everything is fine. They're running some tests on Ruby to determine what kind of treatment to give her for her jaundice. She didn't like the tests very much, but they're over now and we're waiting for the results. They'll bring her back down in a minute and the doctor will come tell you what's next."

You gave her a grateful nod and took another sip of water. "Is she going to need blood transfusions?" you asked. "We saved her cord blood just in case..."

"The doctor will be able to answer that for you," Hilary said with an apologetic smile. "But I can tell you I've seen this a lot on the ward and I understand why you're frightened. But most babies with jaundice are fine."

I knew that you would belabor her use of the word "most" instead of "all," but I thanked her for her help and eased you back up into the bed, clasping your hand in mine.

Fifteen minutes later, the doctor came back into our room. Your head shot up to look at him, your eyes wide, eager for any news of our baby.

"Hello," he said, "I have good news and bad news."

"Bad news first," I said. It was the only way you'd hear the good news.

"Your daughter does have jaundice, and it's a little more severe than we'd like. We're going to ask you to stay for a few more days so we can monitor her every twelve hours and take further action if needed."

"Further action?" you gulped. I could already see you winding up, prepared to spring up out of the bed and dart into the hall, searching for our baby.

"That's the good news," the doctor said with a forced smile. "At this time she doesn't need any transfusions. We're going to get her set up with a phototherapy light and she can stay right in here with you. We try to keep the mom - er, moms - with their babies as much as possible."

"Will I be able to hold her?" you asked, your voice fearful.

"Definitely," the doctor said. "We encourage frequent feeding from breastfeeding mothers. The more bowel movements your daughter has, the more bilirubin is being excreted, and the more often she eats, the more she'll excrete. But when you put her down, make sure her lamp is on and she's wearing her goggles."

"Goggles?" you frowned.

"They're neonatal sunglasses," he said with a shrug. "Just to protect her eyes while the rest of her body gets the benefit of the phototherapy."

"How does the light help her?" you asked.

"The light helps her body break down the bilirubin and get rid of it quickly."

You were calming down a little bit, but I could still see dozens of questions swimming in your head. "So it's a sun lamp?" you asked, trying to clarify.

"Precisely," the doctor said. "Actually, your room is set up nicely so that during the day you can just put her bassinet by the window and she can absorb the natural light, rather than the synthetic light. That'd be good for her."

You nodded, looking over at where a big square of light fell on the ground by the window. "So she'll be okay?" you asked.

"Like I said, at this time, we think only the phototherapy is necessary. We'll keep you both here for a few days and we'll tell you if anything changes."

You swallowed and nodded. You weren't pleased about staying - I knew you wanted to go home - but I could tell you were relieved that our daughter wasn't being hooked up to monitors or tubes at the moment.

"Anything else I can do for you ladies?" the doctor asked with a professional smile.

You shook your head. "I just want her back."

He nodded. "She'll be down in a minute and a technician will come install her light for you."

You let out a sigh of relief and nodded.

I felt my own body start to unwind as your shoulders dropped. I took your hand and we waited. When Ruby was brought back to us, she looked even more yellow than before, but probably because we knew what was wrong now. Her tiny white diaper, folded so it wouldn't rub her umbilical cord, made her skin look even more yellow.

A technician installed a lamp over her bassinet and showed us how to put on her goggles. They looked huge on her and she fussed when you put them on. She looked like an enormous, adorable squirming insect, but it was so sad to watch her wriggle around in there alone. After a while, you decided you had to hold her even if she wasn't eating and picked her up, carefully walking to the window and asking me to move the rocking chair so you could sit in the sun with her.

And for the rest of the day, you stayed like that, keeping watch over her and talking to her in quiet Spanish. I took a few turns so you could go to the bathroom and shower. You were obsessed with showering since you'd given birth, declaring you'd never felt so caked with sweat and grime in your life. I remember that first glorious shower after Caleb. It was the best shower of my life.

That night they tested Ruby's blood again, but this time she was only gone for ten minutes. The doctor said things were looking good, but he still wanted to hold both of you for a few days. You sighed and nodded, stroking Ruby's head as you held her protectively against you.

I slept on my little cot again that night, across from yours, with Ruby in her little bug goggles under her light between us. The next morning I went out to get some food for us - you wanted _real_ food, not hospital food - and when I came back, I slowly opened the door, being quiet in case you were sleeping. I saw you sitting in the rocking chair by the window, crying. You looked overwhelmed as you gazed down at the tiny, squished face of our newborn. I realized it was the first time you had been alone with our daughter. I remember the first time I was alone with Caleb; I felt overwhelming love and helplessness: how could I possibly be entrusted with something so precious? Fear, sadness, and anger set in too. Having a newborn is terrifying.

You were crying softly as to not wake Ruby. I saw the tightness grow in your chest, shaking your shoulders and catching in your throat. You raised your hand to your mouth, stifling your sobs.

You hadn't heard my footsteps as I entered the room. "Santana?" I asked quietly. "Baby…" I cooed as I walked toward the rocking chair, kneeling and running my hand up your bicep. My touch made you finally release, and sob escaped your lips. "Sshh…" I hushed. "It's okay, honey."

"It's _not_ okay…" you wept.

"What's wrong?"

You tucked your chin so I couldn't see your face scrunch up as you whimpered, "She's perfect!"

I let out a soft chuckle. "Of course she is," I murmured, running one hand up to your shoulder and placing the other on your knee.

"No, I mean, she's perfect _exactly_ the way she is," you said, your tone growing insistent and almost angry through your tears. "But her _whole life_, the world is going to tell her she's not." You hiccuped a few times, trying to breathe and hold Ruby steady.

I said nothing, just kept my hands firmly on your shoulder and knee.

You took a breath. "Someday someone is going to tell her she's too skinny or too fat or too different or too dark or too light… They're going to tease her for being mixed race or for having two moms or for being in a club they don't think is cool. They're going to call her names and – and _I won't be there to defend her._" Your voice cracked on the last words as they squeaked out, your chest wracked with new sobs.

I lifted my hand off your knee to wipe your cheeks. I knew you were right; we can't protect our children from all the bad things in the world any more than we can protect ourselves. Before I could speak, you continued:

"I guess I'm just feeling… _overwhelmed_. Before I just needed to be proud for myself and for you and Caleb. But you are already proud and Caleb is a boy. I know that doesn't mean his life will be easy, but the world treats girls like shit... especially girls who are different."

You took a moment to collect yourself, wiping your face and taking comfort in the fact that Ruby was still asleep. "I know I have to be an example for her. It feels different than with Caleb."

I nodded. I knew what you meant, and I also knew you were assuring me that you didn't love Caleb any less now that we have Ruby. I wasn't worried about that. Love isn't limited to a certain amount per lifetime.

"I need to be proud of being a woman, being a lesbian, being Latina, and being your wife. Not just in parades or with my mom or out in public. I have to be proud all the time. Otherwise the hateful things people say will cut her down. The only way I can protect her all the time is to show her how to love and accept herself." You took a breath and swallowed. "It just feels like a lot. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm getting worked up about this right now..." you said, trying to brush your feelings aside like I'm so used to seeing you do. "She doesn't even _know_ she's a girl yet. She just sleeps and eats and poops." You tried to laugh, but it sounded desperate.

My eyes swelled with tears. It isn't often you are able to articulate my feelings better than I could, but _this_ – this was definitely one of those times. Having a daughter _will_ be different than having a son. There are challenges and feelings she'll make us face that Caleb won't. Thinking about her entire life right now felt overwhelming.

"It's okay," I sniffed, bending to give our sleeping daughter a kiss on the forehead. "I know exactly how you feel. And I know someday she'll be proud to have such an amazing mother in you, Santana," I said with a watery smile. "Almost as proud as I am to call you my wife."

You shuddered as a few more tears slipped down your face, giving me a grateful smile. Your voice was barely a whisper as you said, "I'm proud to be your wife too."

After you managed to take a few deep, calming breaths, you said, "I want Caleb to meet her."

I nodded. I'd been waiting for your cue to introduce our children, though I was anxious about it. I hadn't seen Caleb in two days, the longest I'd ever gone. As exciting as our newborn was, I missed our first baby like crazy. "Want me to go get him?" I asked.

You nodded and said you wished you could go with me, just to get a break from being in the hospital. But you hadn't been discharged yet, and I knew there was no way you'd leave Ruby for even a minute if you had a choice. So I kissed both of you and, after unpacking the food I'd picked up, walked out to the parking garage, inhaling as much fresh air as I could.

When I got home I was greeted by a happy, relieved Caleb. I snuggled him to my chest, murmuring how much I'd missed him and asking if he'd had a good time with Gramma and Grampa. He just nodded and wrapped his arms around me _tight_.

"Do you want to go see Mama?" I asked.

He pulled back and gave me an emphatic nod.

"Good, because Mama can't _wait_ to see you. She's at the hospital with your baby sister, Ruby."

Usually I make Caleb walk out to the car - he's heavy and sometimes it hurts my back to carry him - but I was so happy to see him again, I carried him outside and buckled him in. He was quiet as we drove to the hospital, watching his surroundings intently. I bet someday he'll make a living with his exceptional perceptiveness. He notices _everything_. That's why we'd waited so long for him to meet Ruby. We wanted to make sure you weren't too sedated and that Ruby didn't look like a martian.

I held Caleb's hand as we walked down the hall of the maternity wing. He looked nervous, but when I told him we were just visiting and he didn't have to get any shots, he looked a bit more relaxed. When we got to the door of your room, I picked him up and gave him a big smile.

"When we go inside, we need to be quiet and gentle. Mama is tired and Ruby is very delicate. Do you have your gentle hands with you?" I asked, using a term I'd heard his teacher Brenda use a few times.

Caleb gave me a solemn nod and I grinned at him, slowly opening the door.

I watched his face as he took in the scene before him. You were still sitting in the rocking chair by the window with Ruby in your arms. She was awake now, staring up at you. I was glad you'd taken off her goggles for her to meet Caleb.

Caleb observed the two for you for a moment before looking back at me, nervous. I gave him a little pat on the butt to reassure him. "Caleb, this is Ruby, your baby sister."

He stuck his fingers in his mouth and just watched you, giving no indication he wanted to be put down or get closer to his sister.

"Would you like to hold her?" you asked.

Caleb shook his head _no_.

I thought maybe Caleb was already feeling replaced by Ruby. We'd been worried about that; he's so sensitive, and even though we told him he was going to have a baby sister, he had no idea what that meant. It probably meant the same thing to him as "we're giving you a new toy."

So I took another approach. "Caleb, Mama told me over and over how much she missed you while we've been here. I bet you really missed her too."

Caleb nodded and blinked a few times.

"I bet Mama would really like to snuggle you on her lap for a few minutes."

You nodded, and at that, Caleb smiled. I set him down and picked Ruby up so he could have your attention for a minute. He climbed into your lap and you asked him about his trip to the zoo, and he gave you a few short answers, declaring his favorite exhibit had been the hotdogs. When you asked about _animals_, he said he liked the big hippo-pop-em-ups.

After Caleb relaxed a little into your lap, you told him that Ruby really wanted to meet him. He still looked unsure, but he said okay. He sat on your lap, apprehensive as I placed Ruby in his arms. You cradled her head just to be safe, and leaned to the side to watch Caleb's face as he studied her.

Caleb looked down at Ruby and then up at me. Then he looked down at Ruby again and then over his shoulder at you.

"She not done," he said, his voice decided and serious. "She too widdle."

You giggled and put your free hand on his back. "She is very small. But she's done. She'll grow a lot, until she's big enough to run around with you."

Caleb frowned down at her. When he didn't say anything else, you rubbed his back and said, "Ruby really likes when someone sings to her. That's her favorite. Can you sing her a song?"

Caleb kept frowning. "She can't sing?"

"No, but you can teach her how. When she's big enough to talk, then she'll already know all the songs and she can sing with you."

"That's a big job," Caleb said. His face was so serious, it was as if he had just been asked to raise his baby sister alone. I wanted him to be happy and excited to meet her, not worried or anxious.

"Let's sing her _Happy Birthday_," I suggested. "No one has ever sung that to her before. You can be the first!"

"The first?" Caleb asked.

"Yeah, today is her birthday," I smiled. Caleb wouldn't know that Ruby's birthday was actually two days before. He likes the birthday song, but that might have something to do with its association with cake. I hoped it would help him get excited about his sister.

"How old?" Caleb asked, pointing to Ruby.

"She's zero."

At that Caleb laughed. "Zero?" he said, giggling. "No, she's real!"

I tried not to laugh. I didn't bother explaining that someone being zero didn't mean they didn't exist. Instead, I started the song like I usually do when Caleb and I sing together. "Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you..." I paused to let Caleb join in. His lips moved, but his singing was so quiet I couldn't hear him as I sang, "Happy birthday, dear Ruby, happy birthday to you." Caleb sang the end of the song a bit louder, and I thought I heard him sing, "Happy birthday, feliz." Sometimes he puts a Spanish word in the middle of an English sentence, and this time I knew he was just mixing the English and Spanish versions of the song. I'm not sure he realizes he speaks two languages yet.

After the song was over, Caleb seemed a bit more at-ease with Ruby. He extended his hand up to her head. Before he could touch her, you said, "Be very gentle. She's delicate."

I wasn't worried; Caleb is a gentle boy and the only times he's ever been rough were when he was pushing himself away from something he thought was dangerous. But he didn't think Ruby was dangerous. If anything, he was thoroughly unimpressed.

Caleb's chubby hand came to rest on top of Ruby's head amidst her thick black hair. He stroked her hair, his fingers curling delicately over her forehead after each movement, exactly the way he pets his favorite bunny at the petting zoo. After a few strokes, Caleb looked up at me and smiled. "Wooby has nice fur."

"That's her hair," I said, trying not to laugh. "And yes, Ruby does have nice hair," I echoed, smiling at you.

"Like Mama," Caleb added, bobbing his head.

Seeing Caleb's gaze was fixed back on Ruby, I gave you an exaggerated, sentimental pout and mouthed, _Wooby_. You reflected my pout and nodded. As if our daughter's name weren't already perfect, hearing Caleb call her _Wooby_ made it even better.

Soon Caleb declared he needed to go potty. I picked Ruby up and he hopped down off your lap. "I'll take him," you said, getting up from your chair. Caleb took your hand as you guided him into the hall. I sank down into the rocking chair, holding our precious baby girl in my arms. I heard Caleb say he wanted to go back to the zoo with Gramma and Grampa today. I almost didn't hear him because I was so captivated by our baby.

When the door shut and I was alone with our girl for the first time, my face broke into an uncontainable smile. "You're so pretty," I murmured as I gazed down at Ruby, who was looking slightly less yellow today. I stroked her hair and she let out a sleepy little whine. "I can't believe we get to keep you," I whispered. And it was true. Taking her home - whenever that might be - will feel like the biggest gift in the world.


	19. Familia

**A/N: Thanks Muriel!**

**This chapter was hard to crank out... I'm in the middle of moving and I'm working a lot and my clients are keeping me on my toes. But I knew you wanted more of Wooby, so here you go! I'll update again when I can... Still working on TtLW too.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 19 - Familia<strong>

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><p>Caleb didn't talk much as I drove him back to our house, but he didn't seem upset. When we got home, he was a little clingier than usual as I handed him off to my mom, who asked me in a hushed voice how Ruby was doing. I eyed Caleb and said "she's fine." Caleb is so sensitive and we don't want him to know Ruby is sick. Luckily my mom got the hint and scooped him up, saying it was time to get the garden ready for winter. I was relieved someone was going to take care of the garden because I didn't have time. Not now that we have an infant and a two-and-a-half-year old.<p>

When I got back to the hospital, you were exactly where I'd left you, sitting in the sun by the window. I gave you a warm smile and asked when the last time you'd put sunscreen on Ruby was. You said you'd both slathered on SPF 50 half an hour ago.

You looked down at her and your smile faded.

"I just really want her to be healthy and smart," you mumbled.

I know having smart babies is important to you, but it's not the most important thing to me. "I want her to be healthy and _happy_," I amended.

You nodded. But I realized you didn't understand what I was saying. I was saying that if our baby does have some kind of challenge, it won't be the end of the world.

"I'd rather my baby be happy and well-liked than be smart," I explained.

You gave me a surprised frown.

I shrugged. "All the brains in the world won't make her happy."

Your frown deepened to a look of shock.

"But being smart will give her the tools to seek happiness," you argued. "If she's smart, she'll be able to make a comfortable life for herself."

I shook my head. "If she's happy and well-liked, she'll get through just fine. I'd rather she be poor with hundreds of friends than rich and lonely."

Your face looked shocked further still. "Being well-liked is not a marker of success, Britt."

I didn't want to argue with you when you were so scared for her health. Success is subjective. Besides, I knew this wasn't an argument we were going to resolve.

Your nerves were frayed and you jumped every time the door opened. We knew that if Ruby had to stay much longer because of her jaundice, she'd be transferred to the NICU and we'd be moved to NICU parent housing. Nobody wants to have a baby in the NICU.

When Ruby was three days old, Elinor came to visit. Elinor cried as you placed Ruby in her arms. You gave your best friend a trusting smile. I was nervous for Elinor to meet Ruby; I know she'll be a wonderful auntie, but I was worried meeting Ruby would make her sad. She has Danielle's kids, but I know she really wants a baby of her own. She didn't get to meet Andrew and Eliza until they were seven and four, and that's a lot of life to miss out on. I can't imagine raising Caleb having missed everything in his life so far.

I followed Elinor out into the hall when she left because I'd seen her blinking a lot as she tucked her chin down, gazing at Ruby. It made me so sad to see that. Out in the hall, I saw her lift her hand to her face. It looked like she was drying a tear, but I didn't see, so I don't know.

"Elinor," I called after her. "Wait up."

She turned, a bit surprised I had followed her out.

"She's gorgeous, Britt," Elinor said with a forced smile. "I'm really happy for you."

I caught up to her and gave her a muted smile and a nod. I searched her eyes, seeing her guard was up for me. "Are you okay?" I asked, my voice hushed and blending in with the noise of the sneakers and monitors and intercoms in the hall.

Elinor nodded but didn't say anything. The nod was too quick.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "It looked like..."

Elinor tensed, so I stopped.

"I just wondered if maybe it was hard for you."

"Meeting your sweet little girl?" Elinor said, her smile growing saccharine. "That shouldn't be hard."

I wanted her to know that someone saw her. "Andrew and Eliza are really lucky," I said.

"Yeah," Elinor nodded. "Danielle's a great mom."

"So are you," I said. "Not all children are biological."

Elinor nodded, but she wasn't smiling anymore. "Thanks," she said. She turned to go, but stopped herself. "I'm not really their mom," she said, her voice hushed as if she were telling her darkest secret. "I don't feel like they're my kids."

I nodded, even though I had no idea how she felt. There is no question that my kids are mine. I don't know what it's like to be a stepmom.

"Especially Andrew," Elinor said. "He still remembers his dad. When he's mad at me he goes in his room and talks to the picture on his nightstand. I can't really do anything then."

I tried to imagine what it would be like to feel second best to another adult, especially a dead one. It must feel awful. I looked for the silver lining. "Eliza's okay, right?"

Elinor shrugged. "Yeah. But if she'd been old enough to remember her dad before he died, I'm sure she'd do the same thing."

I had no idea what to say to Elinor. She's a great parent. I _know_ that. But I guess a parent and a mother are different things to different people. So I made up some variation of that. "Step-parents are still parents," I said. "I think they just have to work harder."

Elinor shrugged and changed the subject. "I really hope Ruby can go home soon."

I knew Elinor didn't want me poking around in her life anymore, so I thanked her and gave her a hug. But I was so sad for her. She is a wonderful parent and a very sweet auntie and godmother to Caleb. I wish I could give her part of the happiness I felt about finally meeting Ruby, because I certainly had enough to share.

We asked Julie to be Ruby's godmother when she came to meet her. We'd debated about asking her, because Julie has _so_ much going on in her life, taking responsibility for another child in the event of a disaster seemed like too big a request. But it's so unlikely that something would happen to both of us, not to mention the fact that my family or your dad or Elinor and Danielle would swoop in if our children needed anything, we decided it was more important than ever to ask Julie. Just because she's had a rough few years doesn't mean she's fragile or needs to be treated differently. If anything, we know she's resilient and would be a wonderful guardian for our daughter. So that's what we told her. You told her that our daughter needs a powerful, independent godmother and she was our first choice. Julie cried when we you said that. I gave her a hug and she said she was so honored and didn't feel like she deserved it. I rubbed her shoulder and told her of course she deserved it, and we would only give our daughter the very best. She swallowed her tears with a smile, timidly asking if she could hold Ruby again.

Ruby's bilirubin levels were low enough that we were allowed to take her home before she got transferred to the NICU, as long as we brought her back for testing every other day. The relief spread through your body with such intensity I could feel it. You held Ruby against your shoulder and kissed her head, whispering, _We get to take you home now, sweet pea_. Ruby gurgled and whined and you closed your eyes and smiled. When we got home, you put Ruby's bassinet by the window and fell into our bed. You slept as though you hadn't slept in a week. You probably hadn't, with all the feeding and fretting and changes your body had gone through. When Ruby woke up, crying for milk, for a fleeting second I wished I could feed her so you could keep sleeping. But then I remembered how painful and tiring it had been to nurse Caleb and decided I'd be happy just to give her your pre-pumped milk in a bottle once we'd stored some up.

Those first few weeks after Ruby was born were the most gentle weeks of your life. You were exhausted, but you were smiling constantly and murmuring to her as she ate and slept and snuffled. You rarely put her down, mostly because she cried when you did. You fell asleep with her on your chest every afternoon, one hand on her back and the other limp against the couch or bedspread. It was sweet. I snapped plenty of pictures and kept Caleb quiet as long as I could. One afternoon while she was sleeping, I slipped a ring with tiny rubies on it on your finger next to your wedding band. I adored the nursing ring you gave me when Caleb was born, and I wanted you to have one too. The rest of the day, you couldn't stop smiling.

When I got to be alone with Ruby, I couldn't stop smiling either. She is so beautiful. Her skin tone is still a bit of a mystery and she had a pretty bad case of baby acne for a few weeks, but I could tell by the shape of her head and cheeks and lips that she is going to be a heartbreaker. Her dark hair sits like a little cap on her head, keeping her warm and giving Caleb something to pet when he wants to be included in the snuggling. We told him about her soft spot, and he was extra gentle with his petting after that. "It bounces," he said one day. I looked where he was pointing and saw that you could see Ruby's pulse in her soft spot, just like we'd been able to see Caleb's. That little bouncing soft spot made me love Ruby even more.

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><p>Your mother's first visit to see Ruby was tense. I could see you holding Ruby even tighter than usual, not wanting to let her go. You didn't want your mother to hold her, for fear she'd hurt Ruby the way she'd hurt you. You are such a protective mom, and I love that about you. I never worry you'll do anything remotely risky.<p>

But I also knew there was a secret part of you that couldn't wait to see your mom holding Ruby. I was hopeful Ruby would bridge the gap between you two. My hope doesn't know how to hide like yours.

Dolores surprised both of us with that visit. She brought flowers, which was a beautiful gesture. She also brought a gorgeous dress for Ruby, with ruffles and lace and flowers embroidered on the collar. You eyed it, not sure if you could believe your mom was making an effort. You remembered your ultimatum, because your eyes flickered between the dress and your mom before you said quietly, "Did you bring something for Caleb?"

Your mom pursed her lips and reached into her purse and my heart sped up. Had she really bent to your wishes?

She pulled out a wrapped gift. I couldn't believe my eyes! You _must_ have said something to her over the phone when she told you she was coming to visit. Sometimes I'm sad I don't speak Spanish as well as I'd like to, because I want to understand you and your mom, and I can't do that just by watching your faces and body language. I learn a lot from those - how stiff you both are as you dance around each other, how much you want to hide - but words are important too. If words weren't important, we wouldn't have things like wedding vows and bedtime stories.

You blinked a few times as Dolores set the small package on the coffee table. It was almost a toss, as if she were glad to be setting it down and not carrying it in her purse anymore. But she also looked relieved, as if she'd done the hardest thing about her visit.

"For Caleb?" you asked, clarifying, but also in disbelief.

Your mom gave you a small nod and kept her eyes down.

"What is it?" you asked. You were doubtful, and I understood why. It was hard to believe that Dolores was being this nice. It was more likely she was just playing nice so that she could hold Ruby.

"It's a game," she said.

You looked at her for a second before nodding. Dolores had played by your rules, so you had to play back. Caleb and I were playing with a doll on the stairs, but you called to us. "Caleb, sweetie, Abuela brought you something."

"Who's Abuela?" Caleb asked.

You winced at Caleb's question. Caleb has learned to tune Dolores out. He hasn't been around her much, but he senses how anxious you and I get when she's around, so he distances himself. At first he was so curious and scared, he hung around, hugging me and trying to make things better. But he's a child, not an adult, and it's not his job to help either of us feel calmer. So I always give him something to do when Dolores is around. I want him to just be a kid and not worry about our grownup problems.

"_This_ is Abuela," you said, nodding towards your mom. "She's married to 'Wello 'Tonio. She's my Mama. She brought you a present."

Caleb stopped what he was doing and looked up at me and then you. Now that Dolores was paying attention to him, he was confused. I didn't want your mom to think our son is rude, so even though I was nervous, I helped Caleb down the stairs and directed his attention to the gift. He smiled, but it was hesitant. He is never the center of attention when Dolores is around. He picked up the package gingerly, and I could tell he was even containing his enthusiasm about ripping off the wrapping paper. Usually that's his favorite part, but he was very delicate, trying to peel off the tape and slide the paper away with his pudgy fingers. He couldn't quite do it and he ended up ripping it quietly, but Caleb's powers of observation and imitation never cease to amaze me.

When he unwrapped the gift, I saw you frown a little bit. Your mom had gotten him a video game. It was a _reading_ video game, which is better than a game where you just walk around shooting people or eating magic coins. But Caleb doesn't read yet, and everyone who knows us as parents knows that Caleb only watches an hour or two of TV a week, and he never plays video games. I don't think he even knows what a video game is. Dolores' gift was a blatant reminder that she has no idea how our little family works. But it was the thought that counted, right? She brought our son a _gift_. Even if it was because you gave her an ultimatum, I wanted to believe so badly that she did it because she wants to change. I always want to believe the best of people.

Because she'd complied, I saw you shift. You were still torn, but you knew you had to let her hold Ruby now. And there was that big part of you that couldn't wait to see her holding our little girl. You stood up slowly, eyes focused on our daughter, and put her in your mother's arms, with all the caution and care you have when you set Ruby in Caleb's arms.

Your mother's whole face brightened as she looked down at Ruby, and a smile swept across her face in a way that told me she had no choice. She _had_ to smile. "Que hermosa," she murmured, grinning down as Ruby mewed in her sleep. Your mom said a bunch of other things in Spanish, and you echoed her in English, not-so-subtly translating for me. "She _is_ tiny," you nodded. "And she does have a lot of hair." I appreciated the gesture, but it seemed to point out how much I didn't fit in with you and your mom. It's so odd to feel like I don't fit with you, because it rarely happens with other people. Sure, we disagree and feel distance sometimes, but I never feel shut out of your other relationships.

Your mom didn't want to let Ruby go, even when she woke up and started fussing. It was sweet, watching the way she softened and glowed as she held our beautiful girl. Even sweeter was when you told your mom that Ruby wanted me to hold her. "She wants her Mom-ny," you said. When you realized Dolores didn't know why I'm called Mom-ny, you explained, and then reiterated that Ruby was fussy because I hadn't held her in a few hours. I love that you demonstrated to your mom how much faith you have in me as a parent. Maybe someday she'll see I'm actually a pretty good mom. At least most of the time.

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><p>Ruby is a very fussy baby. There's nothing wrong with that; I'd actually been expecting as much, given how docile Caleb was. Caleb slept well and only cried when something was wrong. But Ruby cries when she feels like it. Sometimes it's obvious she's hungry or wet or dirty or needs to be burped, but sometimes we have no idea what's wrong. That tends to happen most in the middle of the night. One time she was crying for so long that Caleb came out of his room and mumbled, "Turn it <em>off<em>." I wish we _could_ turn Ruby off sometimes. She can cry for hours.

Luckily we discovered the magic trick to get Ruby to quiet. In your proactive, super-mom planning, you'd purchased a yoga ball while I was pregnant with Caleb after reading that they were good for back pain. It was wonderful to stretch and sit on when I was pregnant, and you found it helpful during your pregnancy as well. Caleb really likes to play with it, and now that he's not so tippy on his feet, we don't worry about him falling when he leans on it. You started using it as your desk chair after we moved your office down to the parlor. One night Ruby was screaming and you decided that as long as you were up, you might as well get some work done. Holding a furious little Ruby, you checked your email, and as you did, you bounced a little on the yoga ball. Ruby quieted, and as you kept bouncing, she fell asleep. Encouraged, you kept bouncing, gentle little bounces that wouldn't hurt her neck or jostle her too much. Soon that became our go-to Ruby-soothing technique, and we bought an extra yoga ball to keep in our bedroom. It works like a charm. The problem is that once you stop bouncing, Ruby gets angry again. Bouncing on a yoga ball is fun for the first thirty seconds, but after a while it starts to take effort. By the time she's walking, I'm going to have the most toned thighs and butt in the world. They've been sore since she was a week old.

I was very glad we'd asked Julie to be Ruby's godmother when Halloween came around. Ruby was just two weeks old when Julie stopped by with a casserole and a bouquet of flowers. She'd already brought Ruby a birthday present; a little quilt she'd stitched "while Zoe was napping."

Julie is the most domestically talented person I know.

Julie asked what Caleb was going to be for Halloween, and I realized we hadn't even gotten a costume for him. We'd been focusing on the day-to-day things; making sure he understands how his baby sister works and making sure he knows he is just as important to us now as he was a few weeks ago. He always stares at you while you nurse, and after a few days, he asked if he could have a turn. Luckily, you'd been anxious about him getting jealous, so you already had a response.

"This is Ruby's milk, and she's very small, so she needs all of it so she can grow big and strong like you. But there is some milk in the fridge that you can drink, and I would be happy to snuggle you while you drink it." You said it with a warm smile, explaining without shaming him or making him feel second best. Caleb nodded and I helped him get a sippy cup of milk and then you and I made a Caleb sandwich on the couch with a side of Ruby.

When I had a moment of guilt for not having Caleb's Halloween costume ready, Julie had a quick solution. She said she'd seen an adorable elephant costume at the store the other day and would pick it up for me. I tried to give her some money to buy it, but she refused. I feel guilty when she does that, but I know she'd feel bad if I forced her to take our money. So I made a note to get some cute clothes for Zoe sometime.

When Julie brought Caleb his elephant costume a few days before Halloween, she had a sneaky smile on her face. As you helped Caleb try it on, Julie pulled a little bundle out of her bag. "This is for Ruby," she whispered. "I couldn't help myself."

The bundle was just a sack of waffle-print fabric with a hole in the middle. After I looked at it for a minute, trying to figure out what it was, Julie said, "It's a peanut costume. Hopefully she's not allergic." She giggled and I gave her a crushing hug as I tried not to cry. I was tired and stressed out, but I knew we had been right to pick Julie as Ruby's godmother. She made her a _peanut_ costume to go with Caleb's elephant costume.

When we took Caleb and Ruby trick-or-treating, Caleb suddenly became a proud big brother. For the three short weeks of her life, Caleb had watched Ruby from a distance. But suddenly, that night he wanted everyone to know he was her big brother. He'd ring the doorbell and say "ticker teat!" and when someone put candy in his little circus bucket, he'd point to Ruby and say, "My peanut needs some too." It was so cute, we didn't bother explaining to him that Ruby can't eat candy. We started calling Ruby "Peanut" that night. We kept all the extra candy in the freezer and as soon as you heard that your glucose levels were back down to normal, you snuck a few pieces every day, savoring them like good champagne. So I guess in a way, Caleb's Peanut _did_ get her candy. It'd just been filtered and mixed with milk.

Your six weeks of maternity leave flew by. You tried taking Ruby to work with you for a week once you went back, saying that she'd just sleep most of the time and it'd be easier to feed her that way. It worked the first day you tried it, and your boss Denton was accommodating, but at the end of the week you came home and set down her carseat in the foyer, sighing and saying it wasn't going to work. She'd cried through an important meeting and you were so preoccupied with her, you hadn't gotten much done. Secretly, I wondered if you needed a break from her; you'd only been away from her when she was taken to have her tests done in the hospital. But you are so enamored with her and so anxious to give her every advantage in the world, you would never admit to wanting a break. So I went with you to buy a minifridge to keep in your office so you could pump and store Ruby's milk.

We decided that I would stay home with Ruby until she was old enough to go to daycare or until we found a nanny. You were nervous I'd get sick again, but I'm more confident in my ability to take care of myself now. I know my post-partum with Caleb was scary, but I won't have the hormonal change to deal with this time, and I have friends now. I was determined not to get depressed. I still take my medicine every morning when my phone beeps at nine o'clock, but staying healthy is doing more than that. I promised myself to go running three times a week, and to try the mommy workouts you'd done with Caleb when he was an infant. I made plans to keep the garden nice and to have a regular schedule for seeing Julie and Danielle and Nicole. You even suggested that I bring Ruby to your office around lunch if she wasn't sleeping, that way you could nurse her and we would get to spend more time together. I liked that plan a lot.

So that's what we did. For the first six months of Ruby's life, I stayed home with her. There were times I was bored to tears and regretted making that decision, but there was a big, secret part of me that was glad I had so much time with her. In the same way you'd worried about Caleb not connecting with you once he was born, I had been a little bit worried about connecting with Ruby, only I didn't realize it until she was born. I loved her so much, so immediately, and she had no clue who I was. I wondered if dads ever felt the way I felt; one step back from the whole process, a bit helpless and scared, but so invested they couldn't pull away. I figured that staying home with Ruby gave me a chance to make sure she knows how much I love her, even if our genes don't match.

We should have known from the second your water broke that Ruby does things on her own terms. She was an early bloomer; she sat up without help at four months and crawled at five. When she started crawling, she had a goofy smile on her face, as if she knew all the trouble she could get into. I spent my days chasing her around the house and helping her go to sleep when she got tired but tried to fight off a nap. We played the same games I played with Caleb - Mirror Baby, Mirror Mom-ny, and Stack-the-Blocks-and-Knock-Them-Over - but she tired of them sooner than Caleb did, always looking for the next exciting thing. I didn't get depressed again because I didn't have time. Ruby kept me on my feet, wrapped around her tiny little pinky.

Caleb was still a bit fascinated with Ruby's nursing, so I decided it would be good for him to help when Ruby needed to be fed and you weren't home. I would place him in an armchair with Ruby on his lap, and he'd put the bottle in her mouth, laughing when a little milk dribbled out the side or she fell asleep mid-meal. When she stayed awake long enough to finish the bottle, he'd pat her on the tummy and say, "Good job, Peanut." His attention span never went past that, because he had no qualms about me picking her up to burp her.

Caleb's speech really started to take off those first few months of Ruby's life. He's still quiet, but he communicates in longer sentences. Instead of saying, "more milk, please," he said, "Mom-ny, I want more milk, please." Once in awhile he forgets to say _please_, but at Brenda's suggestion, we just pretend we don't hear him, and then he realizes what he forgot. If he forgets to say _thank you_, we take the milk away until he realizes he forgot. It seems a bit harsh, but the result is that we have a very polite little boy.

Caleb's interest in Ruby kindled slowly. Once in a while he asked questions, like "Does Wooby like baseball?" or "Can Wooby count to twelve?" By the time Ruby could roll over, Caleb would get down on the floor and roll with her. We would watch very carefully just to make sure he didn't get too rough and squish her, but we pretended we were watching a rolling match. He would roll over and over until he hit a piece of furniture or a wall, and Ruby just stayed put after her initial roll. When he got tired, he would look up at us and one of us would say, "Yay, Caleb wins!" and he would grin like a fool and pat Ruby on the head, saying, "Nice try, Peanut."

He imitated a lot of other things about Ruby too. When she cried, sometimes he'd "fall" and start crying too. A few times he told us he needed a diaper change, even though he's fully potty trained, except for wearing Pull-Ups at night. He tried to climb into her crib once, and we told him that cribs are not toys and climbing in was dangerous for him and for Ruby. He didn't do it again.

Caleb may have regressed a little bit, but that was to be expected. It had its sweet moments, too. His anxiety spiked when Ruby had a cold around four months. I was driving him to school when all of the sudden in the backseat, Caleb burst into tears. I almost pulled the car over, I was so startled.

"What's wrong?" I asked, trying not to sound too alarmed.

"The moon is lost!" Caleb sobbed

In the rear view mirror I could see his face was scrunched up and starting to turn a bit pink, a sign he was truly distressed.

"Lost?" I asked, unsure what he meant.

Unable to even look at the tragic moon through his window, he nodded and raised a chubby finger to the sky. "It woke up before night ti-i-ime!" he blubbered.

I had to stifle a giggle, but I could understand why he was upset. The moon really is confusing. Confusion is the hobgoblin of big minds.

"Aw, Cay..."

"Leb..." he blubbered.

"The moon is fine, sweetheart. He's visiting his friends. He knows how to get home."

Caleb shuddered and rubbed his eyes with fists, unsure if it was okay to calm down. "Visiting his friends?" he echoed, still unsettled.

"The moon has lots of friends," I said, flashing him a smile in the rearview mirror. "The stars, the clouds, the sun, the birds…"

"And me?" he asked, his expression hopeful but still watery.

"And you," I smiled. "He probably came to wish you a happy day at school."

Caleb looked back and forth between me and the moon, still unsure. "Will he be tired later?"

"He'll have a nap."

He glanced up at the moon, making sure it was really okay. "That's good," he declared.

I drove him the rest of the way to school and gave him extra kisses as we said goodbye.

* * *

><p>Your body snapped back into shape like a balloon that hadn't been fully inflated. Even though you didn't look different than before you had a baby, I felt more attracted to you. I guess knowing just how far you'll go for our little family makes me love you and your body more. We had some great sex on the nights we were able to stay awake for it. You were relieved to find that you no longer needed the vibrator, and as an added bonus, we discovered that you were now multiply orgasmic. We were both so surprised and happy about it, I said I wanted to see if we could beat our college record for number of orgasms I gave you in a twenty-four hour period: eleven. You laughed and tipped your head back on the pillow, saying that sounded amazing- another night. I kissed your nose and told you that it was <em>on<em> for when you were up for it. You smiled and nuzzled into me, saying you'd take the first feeding of the night if I'd take the second and third. I made a joke about the number of feedings in a night exceeding our record for orgasms, but you were already half asleep and gave me just a faint chuckle.

Sex is like a favorite food. You eat it your whole life, but it's not always as satisfying. I've always loved Lifesavers. The fruity kind, not the minty kind. But see, if you eat them too often or if you eat them every day, they're not as special or delicious. Some days they will taste better than others. But then one day you'll have one and it will be the best Lifesaver you've ever had, for no particular reason. That's what sex with you is like. You never know when it's going to be amazing. It just is sometimes. And since Ruby was born, we've had the best lifesavers ever.

* * *

><p>Your mother came to visit every few weeks. I was glad I had time to keep the house clean, because she makes me nervous and I want our house to look nice when she visits. A few times she brought something small for Ruby, and you asked if she'd brought something for Caleb. When she hadn't, you gave her a falsely apologetic smile and didn't accept the gift. I thought that was ballsy of you, because your mother can turn cold at the drop of a hat. But she didn't. She sighed, seeing you weren't going to budge.<p>

After a few attempts, she came up with another solution. "What if I took him to the park?" she said. "He never likes the gifts I bring anyway..." She looked a little grumpy, but I was so surprised by her offer, I tried not to analyze it.

You were surprised too. "You want to take him to the park?" you asked, trying not to frown.

You mom gave a stiff shrug. "It's not too cold for March. He likes the park, right? All kids like the park."

You gave her a slow nod, eying her to see what her real motive was. Finding no clues, you slowly said, "He does like the park..." You glanced up at me, and I was so happy that your mom wanted to spend time with Caleb, I gave you an eager nod. So you said, "You can take him to the park for a bit. If you want. Caleb," you called to him where he was wheeling Wabbit around your desk in his dump truck in the parlor, "Want to go to the park with Abuela?"

"Okay," Caleb called back, making one final circle around the desk before plucking Wabbit from the back of the truck and plodding into the living room where we were sitting.

Dolores eyed Caleb and said, "Do you like the swings?"

Caleb grinned at her and nodded. "Let's go!" he said. He walked to the door and stood there waiting for her.

Your mom got up, looking back at us, unsure, but determined to try. When she opened the door, Caleb said, "Wait, 'Wella, Wabbit needs his scarf!"

There's a little scarf Caleb took from one of his dolls that he puts on Wabbit when he leaves the house now that it's winter. I think it's so sweet; we help him bundle up for the cold and he sees us bundle Ruby up, and he knows that you keep the people you love warm in the winter. So he bundles Wabbit up because he loves Wabbit.

But your mom didn't think it was as cute. "Don't you think you're a little old to bring your bunny to the park?" she said with a frown.

"Wabbit _likes_ the park," Caleb said. It was his way of putting his foot down. He was not going to go to the park with 'Wella and not Wabbit, and we both knew it.

"Wabbit goes to the park," you said from across the room, your voice warning. I think in a way, making sure Caleb got to take Wabbit with him was your way of keeping him safe from your mom.

When they returned an hour later, Caleb was happy and tired. His nose was a little pink from the cold, but he was smiling. "Wabbit went so high!" he said. "I pushed him the highest!"

You couldn't contain your smile as you imagined Caleb putting Wabbit in one of the baby swings and pushing it haphazardly around. "Did 'Wella go high too?" you asked.

"No," Caleb shook his head. "'Wella doesn't swing. But she watches good."

I thought Caleb's summary was sweet. He knew 'Wella wasn't ready to hold him in her lap on the swing or cheer him on as he climbed the stairs to the slide. But he knew she was watching and learning about him and trying, trying, trying to understand.

* * *

><p>Just after Caleb's third birthday, your mother showed up unannounced one day. Caleb had been asking to try out his bike - a tricycle, really - and it was hard for me to help him steer while six-month-old Ruby was strapped to my tummy or on my hip. So when your mother showed up and offered to watch Ruby while I took Caleb to the schoolyard and helped him learn to ride, I didn't think too much of it. We've trusted her to take Caleb to the park, and once you ran out to the store to get milk while your mom watched both Caleb and Ruby at our house. So leaving Ruby with her would be fine.<p>

Caleb and I had a great time learning to ride, and I felt like I had emotional whiplash the whole time. One moment I'd be laughing as he pedaled himself backwards, grinning at me because riding backwards is incredibly silly, and the next moment my throat would be closing around tears as he rode confidently away from me, sitting up straight and proud with his enormous, round helmet strapped under his chin. I cannot believe our boy is three, Santana. Just yesterday I was nursing him for the first time.

When I got home, your car was parked in the driveway. I hoped you and your mom were talking and getting along. It's been fascinating to watch you two since Ruby was born. Usually I can tell who's backing away and who's making a step forward in a conversation, but sometimes I'm utterly confused. This time was no exception. You'd just gotten home, because you were taking off your shoes as you told her how much you wanted a vacation so you could spend time with your kids. It was sweet, watching you talk to her like that. She was sitting on the couch holding Ruby, who was screaming and waving her arms around.

"Has she been fed recently?" you asked, walking over to the couch.

Your mother nodded.

"Changed?"

Your mother nodded again.

"Anything different about her afternoo-" your words stuck in your throat and you froze for a moment before looking back at me where I was taking Caleb's coat off by the door. You turned back to your mom. "Ma, did you _pierce her ears_?"

Your mother nodded. "She looks pretty, doesn't she? You had yours done when you were her age."

You gaped at her for a moment before snatching Ruby out of her arms. "What were you - that's not your - _get out of my house_!" you screamed.

Your mother looked stunned as you held Ruby close to your chest, cradling her head and glaring at your mother. When she didn't move, you repeated, just as loud, "_Get out of my house!_" and pointed towards where Caleb and I were standing at the door. I felt Caleb go rigid with fear at the sound of your anger. He clung to my leg and watched you and your mother fight.

"Santana, it's no big deal!" your mother argued, looking at me for support as she stayed rooted to the couch. "She was going to get them pierced eventually!"

"You don't know that!" you said, exasperated. "And if she were, her _parents_ get to decide if she's ready, _not_ you!"

"Pero soy su Abuela!" your mother said, still shocked and confused.

"You are _not her mother_!" you said, stamping your foot. "You don't get to make _any_ decisions about her! This is _my_ family."

You and I had a conversation when I was pregnant about what we would do if we had a boy and they asked us about circumcision at the hospital. Neither of us knew much about circumcision, so we researched it and decided that we didn't want to have him circumcised. There were good arguments for both sides, but what unsettled us was the thought of making a decision about our baby's body that wasn't purely medical and would last the rest of his life. I knew that you felt the same way about Ruby's pierced ears; it didn't matter if she eventually got them pierced, the issue was that she didn't get a choice. The fact that your mother had made a choice for Ruby made you angrier than I'd seen you in years.

Your mother started rattling excuses at you in Spanish, and you stamped your foot again. "Speak _English_ around my wife!" you yelled. "You cannot come into _our_ house and be rude to her!"

Your mother looked at you, dumbfounded for a minute. Your chest was heaving under Ruby, who was still screaming and batting at her ears. You stared at your mother for a minute before your voice dropped low and icy. "Get out," you growled. "Get out and don't _ever_ come back."


	20. Odette and Her Princess

**Chapter 20: Odette and Her Princess**

I was torn in three different ways. I wanted to comfort our screaming daughter, I wanted to soothe our terrified son, and I wanted to calm your fury. I started with the one closest to me, the trembling little boy on my leg. I bent and picked him up after peeling off his coat.

"It's okay," I whispered to him. "Mama is mad, but she's not mad at you. She and 'Wella need to talk, so let's go make dinner. Will you help me wash the salad?"

Caleb nodded but didn't take his gaze of you and your mom. I scurried into the kitchen, trying to ignore the way my heart squeezed at the sound of our daughter screaming. But you were holding her tightly and wouldn't have let her go, even for me.

I tried to pretend I wasn't listening to you shooing your mother out the door as Caleb and I took vegetables and lettuce out of the fridge and washed them. He was distracted, but diligent in his efforts to help me. Watching him try so hard not to appear scared made my heart squeeze even more. I heard the front door close and then I heard Ruby's cries move up the stairs, your frantic Spanish murmuring paired with them. Soon I heard the predictable, fluid opening notes of _Swan Lake_ wafting from Ruby's bedroom.

Ruby's crying fits are impressive, to say the least. She screams and screams until even _my_ patience is wearing thin. Yours gets run through the mill on the days you stay with her alone for a few hours. I've never met a child so like a teakettle; she starts to shriek and before you know it, you're darting across the room to make the noise stop. Of course this time she was startled and in pain, but even when she's not hurting, picking her up and hushing her doesn't work. We've tried everything with Ruby. Pacifiers, nursing, singing, swaddling, bouncing, walking, leaving her alone, driving around the block a dozen times... you name it, we tried it. The bouncy ball that worked when she was a newborn wasn't as reliable as we'd hoped. The only thing that had a fairly good success rate was listening to _Swan Lake._ One day you were driving her to a doctor's appointment and she was screaming in the backseat. In an effort to soothe yourself so you didn't drive your car off cliff from listening to our baby scream for so long, you turned your radio to a classical station. Sometimes you do that to calm yourself down. That particular day, Tsaichosvksy's _Swan Lake_ was playing, and after it had only been playing for a few seconds, Ruby quieted. You left the dial where it was, not wanting to risk letting the teakettle get steamed again. When the song ended and a new one started playing, she started crying again. So while you sat in the waiting room with her, you downloaded the song that had been playing onto your iPod and played it for her. She quieted again. Perplexed but by no means concerned, we started playing _Swan Lake_ whenever Ruby is upset, and it usually works. The dramatic sound of the horns' haunting melody has some kind of magical effect on our daughter. We don't understand it, but as long as it works, we don't care.

But of course this time it didn't work. If I'd had holes punched in me, _Swan Lake_ wouldn't work for me either.

You came down to the kitchen just as Caleb and I were pouring dressing on the salad, holding a still screaming Ruby against your heart. "Is the baby Tylenol down here?" you asked in a frantic whisper, opening every cupboard and peering inside.

I nodded, handed Caleb a fistful of silverware to set at the table, and slid a few steps over to open the cabinet above the stove vent. I took out the baby Tylenol and opened the cap, using the dropper to suction up the right dose for Ruby. Ruby wriggled and tried to get away from me as I cupped her face to slide the dropper between her lips, but once she tasted the sweet liquid, she settled enough to swallow before resuming her crying.

Since you were standing so close to me, I dared to look up at you. "Are you mad at me?" I whispered.

You pursed your lips. "Don't ever leave our kids with my mom, okay?"

I nodded. But you hadn't answered my question. "Are you mad at me?"

You sighed and shook your head. "I'm mad at her," you said. "And at myself for thinking she could change."

It broke my heart to hear, because I knew for the time being, you were giving up all hope of reconciling with your mom. Maybe it was to comfort you or maybe it was to try to stop my chest from aching that I pulled you close, snuggling furious Ruby between us.

"Don't be mad for wanting her to be as great a mom as you are," I whispered.

You nodded and pulled away. "Hopefully the medicine will make her sleepy," you said, looking down at Ruby. "Do you think we should ice her ears?" you asked.

I shook my head. "I think the ice would upset her even more."

You nodded in agreement. "Maybe just something cool?" you tried.

I nodded and damped a paper towel with cold tap water. "Don't touch the earrings directly, just put this behind her ears." It would be hard, since her ears are so small and she's so wiggly, but she did need soothing.

You took her and the paper towel upstairs. Caleb and I ate our salad as we listened to Ruby's cries die down and eventually stop. At first Caleb had been distressed whenever Ruby cried, but he's gotten used to it now. Aside from you being angry at your mom, I don't think he knew anything was wrong. After we ate, he and I made a plate to take up to you, along with a bowl of rice cereal for Ruby. Caleb carried the cereal up the stairs, muttering about it being time to feed Peanut her goop. But when we got upstairs, we found you weren't in her nursery. I peered into our bedroom and found you asleep on the bed underneath a finally quiet Ruby, the paper towel fallen to the floor beside the bed. You both looked so peaceful, I couldn't help but smile.

Caleb looked up at me, gauging what to do with the cereal since clearly Ruby wouldn't be eating it. "Guess it's sleeping time already," he said. He marched forward, carefully setting the bowl on the bedside table, and scrambled onto the bed. He curled around your arm on his side, tilting his head to look up at your face before nestling further into your side, squeezing his eyes shut. His eyelids flickered a bit as he kept up the charade of sleeping.

The image of the three people I love the most resting together in our bed after such an eventful afternoon made me smile. Something inside me unclenched. I tiptoed over to the bureau and took out our camera, snapping a picture before sitting in the armchair in the corner. I was tired too. Tired beyond belief. But knowing how tumultuous real life is, I needed to soak up this peaceful feeling as long as I could. As the sun set outside, Caleb's eyelids stopped flickered and his breathing deepened. When at last I could barely keep my own eyes open, I stood and removed first his shoes, then my own, before lying next to him and pulling a blanket over all four of us.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: That's all for now, readers! I'm taking a much-needed haitus until Season 4 starts. Hopefully the muse will find me by then. But after over a year of publishing weekly (for the most part,) I think she deserves a vacation too.**


	21. Turning The Page

A/N: Hi guys! I'm back! I'm excited for what's in store.

Even more exciting: my book is out! Go to my tumblr to purchase; I also have an FAQ about it there if you have questions. It's not yet available for Kindle.

Thanks to my team, as always.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21: Turning The Page<strong>

"_No_!" Ruby shrieked, glaring at you from under her long, thick eyelashes. "I'm _not_ putting on my coat!"

"Roo, just put it _on_!" you said, exasperated. "It's negative ten outside, you can't go out without a coat."

"No!" Ruby shrieked again. "I _hate_ my coat!" Her gaze was piercing and furious.

"It's just a coat," you hissed. "Put it on _now_."

I pretended I wasn't watching.

"It's _stupid_, I won't!" Ruby spat.

"Oh my god, there's no question you're a Lopez," you said under your breath. You straightened up and put on your serious mom face. "I'm going to ask you one more time," you warned, holding up your pointer finger for her to see. "And after that I'm going to tell Gramma Vickie that she needs to bring you right home after playgroup, no ballet."

"I hate ballet too!" Ruby said, jutting her hips back and her face forward with a scowl.

"Fine," you said, "I guess..."

You looked at me as you racked your brain for another appropriate consequence. One time you had taken away Ruby's stuffed panther, Rupert, and that was miserable for everyone, most of all you. I gave you an exaggerated smile, reminding you to use your humor. You caught my drift and turned back to Ruby.

"I guess you'll disappear like the snowman," you shrugged, trying to look forlorn.

Ruby paused, slightly concerned. "What snowman?" she asked.

"The snowman I saw in the front yard last night," you said, giving an exaggerated shrug. "He was such a _nice_ snowman. It's a shame he didn't put on his snowsuit."

Ruby eyed you, trying to figure out if you were lying. "Snowmen don't need snowsuits," she said, frowning a bit.

"Of _course_ they do!" you said, dropping Ruby's coat into your lap and rolling your eyes for effect. "What did you think their clothes are made out of, _fabric_? Their clothes are made of snow! It's a _real_ snow suit."

Ruby contemplated this for a moment, looking perplexed. "So what happened to him?"

"Well," you began, plastering on a look of regret, "he melted. He didn't have his snowsuit protecting him."

Ruby looked anxious. "Well... _I_ won't melt," she said, trying to sound certain, "... right?"

"No, people are the opposite of snowmen. They freeze."

"And then I'd go away?" Ruby asked, eyes widening.

"I certainly hope not," you said, trying to sound concerned. "I would be so, so sad. I bet the snowman's mom was really sad too."

Seeing Ruby was buying your story, you took a calculated risk that made me grin.

"If the snowman came back, would you show him how to put on his snowsuit so he wouldn't melt again?"

"Yup," said Ruby, bobbing her head. "I'd show 'im."

"That's so nice of you," you said, giving our spirited daughter a warm smile. "How would you show him?"

Ruby plucked the coat from your hands and stuck her arm in the sleeve. "Like _this_!" she said, beaming.

A minute later the two of you, plus a very patient Caleb, were in the car backing out of the driveway.

Our four-year-old daughter is as strong-willed and passionate as you are. The problem is that she's too young to channel her energy effectively like you do. She picks a different battle every day. For a week she refused to brush her teeth and we had to hold her down while she screamed. Last week she refused to let us help her put on her shoes, and she walked around all day with her shoes on the wrong feet. "Roo, you're gonna get blisters," you kept saying to her. "Your feet will hurt if you don't switch them." Ruby had no response other than to run away.

But life with our daughter is not merely a series of battles. Some days it feels like it, but she brings us so much joy. She has the most musical laugh I've ever heard, like one of those jewelry boxes with a dancing ballerina inside. The sound floats through the house and cuts through the drone of the dishwasher or printer or tap. When Ruby is happy, everything in our house seems lighter.

You once described Ruby tantruming as Mount Vesuvius. When I frowned because I didn't know what that meant, you explained that Mount Vesuvius is a volcano that buried two Roman cities in a single eruption. I giggled a little bit. It's true; when Ruby's upset, everyone is upset. But what you left out is just how happy she can be and how she shares that joy effortlessly.

When she was only six months old, Caleb used to play a game with her. He would get her container of rice puffs out of the cabinet and make a trail of snacks around the living room. Ruby was enthusiastic about this game, but sometimes it took her a minute to get the puff in her mouth because it stuck to her fingers or cheek en route to her mouth. She had to stop and concentrate on each one. But then she moved on to the next one with a big grin on her face, sometimes giggling the most beautiful little baby giggle. Caleb liked that game and often narrated what she was doing. "Wooby's twying weel good to get the snack in her mouth. She likes these puffs. She's a pwetty fast cwawler. She can't eat cwackers, just puffs." Aside from mild discomfort if the carpet hadn't been vacuumed in a while, we let them play the puff-chase game until one of them got tired. Usually Caleb got bored of waiting for Ruby to get to the next puff.

When we took Ruby to the doctor for her eighteen-month check-up, she grabbed her sock and yanked it off as Dr. Baird was listening to her little heart and lungs. She's still very small. When Ruby tried to put the same sock back on, Dr. Baird chuckled and said, _If she gets that sock on, I'll eat my hat._ A few minutes later, Dr. Baird's jaw fell open when Ruby got her sock on. _I have never seen an eighteen-month-old do that!_ she exclaimed. Your smile grew smug. It's no secret our daughter is smart. But hearing it from our daughter's pediatrician made you exceptionally proud.

Ruby is too clever for her own good sometimes. One afternoon when she was three and a half, she kept pestering you for a piece of chocolate, and you kept saying _no, you already had a cookie. No, not even a tiny piece. No more treats, Ruby_. You got frustrated with her and told her to go outside and play. It was April and finally warm enough to go outside, and you were relieved when she didn't put up any fuss about putting her sweater on. You did the dishes, watching her out the back window. You must have looked away for a few minutes, because not five minutes after she went out, the doorbell rang. When you answered it, there was Ruby on the front steps, beaming up at you with a shit-eating grin as she cheered, "Trick or Treat!" You made her come inside, trying to contain your laughter as you told her that Trick-or-Treat only works on Halloween.

Ruby has great curiosity and enthusiasm about academics. At age four, she knows all her letters and numbers and she can spell all our names and many other words. She likes to read the letters on signs and labels and explain what they mean. Last week we were sitting at the table and she grabbed the jar of applesauce and said "M-O-T-T-S spells _applesauce_!" You smiled and corrected her while Caleb seemed not to notice, concentrating on eating his snack rather than reading it.

Our boy is smart too. He's the most perceptive person I've ever met, and he understood Ruby's words before we did. It wasn't uncommon for Ruby to be yapping away in her highchair at dinner, growing frustrated with our inferior comprehension skills, and Caleb to turn and say, "She wants more milk," or "she thinks these peas are yucky." Before Ruby learned to talk, she would throw her unwanted food at Caleb. We would always scold her and discourage Caleb from eating it. But when Ruby wasn't around, you'd remark about the precision of her pitching arm.

While everyone can see that Ruby is clever and ahead of her age, not everything comes as easily to Caleb. He effortlessly learned kindness and sharing and how to separate himself when he gets overwhelmed; those things are hard for Ruby, who is book smart like you. But Caleb has a hard time with school. He got too old for Hummingbirds' Nest and had to say a tearful goodbye to Brenda and start in Ms. Peters' kindergarten class. Ever since then, he hasn't liked school.

I don't remember a lot about kindergarten, other than what my mom tells me. She said that I finally stopped crying when she dropped me off and I made lots of friends. I wouldn't go to school if I wasn't wearing something pink - just like our daughter -, and I insisted she pack me both a cheddar _and_ a mozzarella cheese stick in my lunch every day or I wouldn't eat anything. "But don't worry, baby girl, _all_ kids are quirky," she always says at that part of the story. And it's true, all kids are quirky. Ours are no exception. I know Caleb is a unique person and I love that about him. I just wish school was easier for him.

Caleb's academic struggles at such a young age are hard for me. He comes home every day with a list of words that he's supposed to learn and it takes us hours to get through them. Kindergarteners shouldn't have more than ten minutes of homework. None, on most days. He gets so frustrated that sometimes he starts to cry.

"I don't like reading," he said one night when you could hear.

I saw you fidget and try to keep things light. "Reading is fun, Caleb!" you said, pouring a glass of milk for his dinner. "Reading lets you travel all over the world in your imagination."

"I can do that over there," Caleb said, pointing towards a cardboard box in the corner of the living room. He'd asked for help cutting a hole in the side and asked me to write SPACESHIP in Sharpie on the top. Sometimes when Ruby gets loud and upset, he crawls in his spaceship and starts muttering to himself. Other times, he goes in there and makes blastoff noises that make both of us grin.

But you're worried about Caleb's difficulty reading. You asked your dad and my parents and anyone else who knows Caleb well if we should have him assessed. I was angry at you for asking behind my back. Angrier than I expected to be. There's nothing wrong with Caleb, and you were making a big deal out of nothing. He's just not interested in reading yet, and we're forcing him to do something that bores him. No one learns well that way.

One day you were doing his word list with him and he had his head in his hands. I could see he was getting more and more frustrated and withdrawing from you, which made you more nervous. When both of you were so anxious and frustrated that I knew nothing was going to get done, I sat down next to Caleb.

"Caleb, let's draw," I said. "We can take a break from words."

Caleb gave me a thankful nod, picking up his pencil as I slid a fresh sheet of paper in front of him.

"Can you draw me something that makes you happy?" I asked.

He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and concentrated on drawing for a minute. I caught your eye and motioned that I wanted to talk to you out of earshot. Begrudgingly, you got up and we went into your office.

"He's overwhelmed," I whispered. Sometimes you need me to state the obvious.

"But he needs to learn to read! I don't know what to do, Britt. I think we should take him to see someone."

"He's _six_!" I exclaimed, barely keeping my exasperation within a whisper. "There's nothing wrong with him! He's just not interested!"

"Britt, this isn't him just not being interested," you said, bracing yourself. You weren't going to budge on this. "We should have sent him to private school. They're better at dealing with this stuff."

I scowled at you. "Sending him to a fancy school won't make him interested in reading any more than sending Ruby to a library will make her interested in being quiet." I almost turned and left the room because I couldn't handle your stubbornness and insensitivity any more. Caleb needs gentle encouragement, not tests and specialists and tutors. I don't want him to feel like there's anything wrong with him.

"Britt, he needs help. Don't take this so personally."

My anger surged at you. "I'm not taking it personally, Santana, I'm telling you he's not interested!" It came out louder than I meant it to. "You just don't understand!"

You paused and your eyebrow twitched up. "Understand what?" you asked.

"Him!"

You stared at me for what felt like a full minute of silence before you closed your mouth, swallowed, and stood up straighter.

"Last time I checked, I was just as much his mom as you are," you whispered.

Now I was angry because you were twisting my words.

"I never said you weren't," I said, keeping my teeth clenched so I wouldn't let my anger fly out at you.

You took a quick, loud breath in through your nose and your eyes fluttered closed. "This has nothing to do with us, okay? Our boy needs help. Getting him assessed isn't going to hurt his feelings or make him feel bad."

"You don't know that!" I protested.

You held up your hands, as if trying to fortify the dam that was keeping me from blowing up at you.

"Just a preliminary assessment."

"No!"

Then you snapped. "Why are you being like this? This is his education! _Why _wouldn't you want the best for him?"

"Because you don't know what's best for him!"

Your eyes pierced through me as you squinted. "And you do?"

"Yes!"

I saw your fists clench and your eyes flutter closed again. I braced myself for whatever you were about to say.

But instead I heard a timid, "Mom-ny?"

I felt sick, realizing Caleb might have overheard our whole argument. I whirled around, changing my expression so he wouldn't see how angry I was at you.

"What, baby?"

His face was alert, his eyes flickering back and forth, trying to read both of us.

"Ruby made a mess," he said. He sounded apologetic; he isn't a tattletale.

"What kind of mess?" you asked.

"A big mess."

"Where?"

"In your room."

I heard you deflate and saw you tip your head back and groan.

"I got it," you grumbled, walked out of the room towards the stairs.

Caleb stood still in the doorway, looking at me. I had an overwhelming urge to scoop him up and apologize for every bad feeling he could be having. I didn't want him to know we were arguing about him. But I'm sure he knew.

"Do I need to do more words?" he asked. He sounded nervous, as opposed to frustrated and full of dread as I would have expected.

"No, baby, we can be done with words for tonight. Will you show me your drawing?"

He nodded and waited until I took his hand to lead me back to the table.

But before I sat down, I heard you yelling upstairs, "Ruby! What are you doing!"

"It needs more sparkles!" Ruby protested back.

"No! No more sparkles!"

Your voice got lower but no less insistent as you started rattling at her in Spanish.

Caleb cast a sidelong glance at me.

"What did she do?" I whispered. I wanted to be prepared when I went upstairs to back you up.

"She put toothpaste all over your bed," he said. "The sparkly kind."

I pressed my hand over my eyes in dread. I had just washed the bedspread the day before. Aside from that annoyance, I have no idea what to do when Ruby misbehaves like that. Caleb would never be that naughty. I decided to stay downstairs for just a minute longer.

I slid into the seat you'd been sitting in at the table and watched as he drew four tiny people in the center of the page; two mommies, a little boy, and a smaller girl with dark lines coming out of her mouth, the mommies not more than an inch tall and the kids half that size.

"Ruby's yelling," he explained. "Even though Mama and Mom-ny keep reminding her to use her inside voice."

I nodded and looked at the rest of the drawing. He had drawn a house around the four people, and a road leading from it that went to the edge of his paper.

"I need more papers," Caleb said. "Lots more."

I tore off more paper.

"We gotta tape them," he said, sliding off his chair to get the tape. He opened a drawer and got the tape out, then carefully started taping the papers together. It is remarkable that someone who couldn't even walk five years ago can do fine motor tasks so well.

I knew I should go upstairs and back you up with Ruby, so I patted Caleb's arm and told him I'd be back in a minute. I was dreading what awaited me at the top of the stairs, though. My two feisty, hot-tempered girls, squaring off with a tube of toothpaste and arguing in a language I only partially understand.

But when I got upstairs, it was strangely quiet. I peered in the doorway and saw Ruby trying to pull a pillowcase off a pillow, adding to the pile of sheets smeared with sparkly blue toothpaste at the foot of the bed.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

You gave me a stiff nod. "Ruby is going to put these sheets in the washer with me before we vacuum upstairs. She's not allowed to use the sparkly toothpaste until next week. I hope by then she understands that toothpaste is for teeth, not beds."

You were speaking to Ruby through me, explaining her consequence to her. It seemed like you had a good handle on the situation; we always try to provide natural or related consequences when our children misbehave. I'm really good at that with Caleb: when he was little and dumped water out of the bathtub, I made him help me mop it up. When he kept tossing his spoon out of his high chair, I stopped picking it up. But Ruby tests our limits a hundred times more than Caleb does, and now that I'm working full time, I feel out of practice with discipline. So I nodded and turned back to the stairs, relieved to return to my calm, well-behaved boy.

I sat down next to him again and admired how he had taped pieces of paper together so precisely. He continued drawing a road along another piece of paper, and then made an intersection. From that intersection he continued at an angle. I thought he was just drawing a road, but after several more intersections, he drew another house. "That's Brenda's house," he informed me. "She's sad because I don't go visit her anymore."

I let him draw for a minute because I wasn't sure how to respond. Of course Brenda wasn't sad; over the course of her career, she had grown accustomed to saying goodbye to children. But it saddened me that Caleb doesn't feel like he can say _he_ is sad he doesn't go to Hummingbird's Nest anymore. He worries about other people too much, I think. He has a hard time knowing where he stops and other people start. Just like me.

"Are _you_ sad you don't get to go to Hummingbird's Nest anymore?"

Caleb kept drawing and didn't respond. I knew I'd made him uncomfortable, because he would never be so rude as to ignore my question for no reason. I guess understanding feelings is different than talking about them.

"This is the road that goes to Mama's work," he said, drawing another set of lines onto a new piece of paper. "And if you keep going, you get to your job, Mom-ny."

I examined the map he was drawing and saw that it was a decent representation of the part of Columbus he knew well.

"My new job or my old job?" I asked.

"Your new job," he said. "With the big kids who need to stay healthy and safe."

That's how we explained my new job as a school nurse and Health teacher to Caleb. One night on the way to his favorite taqueria, he saw a shoebox full of condoms in the passenger seat of my car as you moved them to climb in. When he asked what they were for. you looked at me, indicating I had to come up with an answer quick, and I told him they were for big kids to stay healthy and safe. He tugged at his seatbelt a little and said "That's good."

I like my job a lot. I'm never bored like I was in hospice. There's always a stream of teenagers coming through my office, wanting to chat or pretending to be sick to get out of class, and the occasional student who is actually sick. I like working there. At first I was nervous being on a school campus again, and I was worried people would call me stupid or I wouldn't understand something important. But I understand a lot more than most of the staff does.

I understand that some kids feel safer at school than they do at home. I understand that some kids feel sick at school because their anxiety is so high. I understand that sometimes kids feel sick instead of sad or angry or scared. And, most painfully, I understand there isn't much I can do about any of those things other than let them rest in my office and use the phone to call home.

When Caleb finished drawing his map, I was in awe. His spacial awareness is astounding for a six year old. I guess that's a natural extension of his ability to read people and social cues; he can read and understand places in relation to other places as well.

By the time you and Ruby finished cleaning up the sparkly toothpaste and vacuuming, I had settled down a lot from our argument. You had too. I know we hadn't resolved anything, but I like things to stay peaceful in our house whenever possible. With two kids and two careers, it doesn't happen often. So we didn't continue talking about how you think there's something wrong with our son.

The next day I had to go pick Caleb up from school in the middle of the day to take him to the dentist. When I got there in the middle of recess, I was surprised at how unnerving the playground was. The sound of basketballs and shouts and taunts and squeaking shoes was overwhelming. How do kids tolerate so much going on without running to hide? Sometimes I wanted to when we were young. I remember following you, knowing you'd keep me safe from all that noise. I don't know why so much noise is scary, but it is. I felt like all the basketballs were coming towards me and the shouting was at me and that if I were somehow better or different, things would be quieter. It seems silly now, thinking I was responsible for the whole play yard. I hope Caleb doesn't feel the same.

But later that day as I lay on the couch with him on top of me, I started to worry that he does. My hands rested on his back as it rose and fell. He's starting to require a great deal of effort to lift, but I love the way his weight rests on top of me, anchoring me like you do sometimes. It's usually different than when you lay on top of me though; with you, sometimes I feel worry or sadness or exhaustion seeping from you, mingling with thoughts of our shared responsibilities. With Caleb, it's always simple and in the present; he trusts me to hold his tiredness and his frustration and his joy as his thoughts drift from spaceships to trucks to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. His eternal presence in the present relaxes me as soon as he lays his chubby cheek on my breast. But today he felt different. Older.

"How was school today, Caleb?" I asked.

He didn't respond. That wasn't a good sign.

"Did you learn anything new?"

Caleb shook his head against me.

"Did you play with your friends?"

Caleb stiffened before shaking his head.

"Why not?"

Caleb paused. After a moment, he mumbled, "They said mean things to me."

I tensed.

"What did they say?"

"Mean things."

"What kind of mean things?"

Caleb didn't respond. I could feel his embarrassment radiating from him.

I lowered my voice even more.

"Sweetie, it's okay to tell me."

Caleb shook his head.

"Caleb, I know what they said isn't true. Can you tell me what they said so we can figure out what to do so they don't say any more mean things?"

Caleb paused before he mumbled, "They called me a dum-dum."

I felt my stomach lurch and my neck and cheeks go hot.

"_Who_ did?" I asked, pressing my hands into his back.

"Billy and Alex and Joe."

I have never disliked three children so intensely as I disliked Billy and Alex and Joe in that moment.

"Billy and Alex and Joe are wrong, Caleb. You're very smart." I needed him to understand how smart he is, and I knew an example would help. "Do you remember when you were three and you realized you spoke two languages?"

Caleb nodded.

"We asked you what you thought was happening before, and you said that you thought there was just one language that Mama spoke, but I only understood half the words. Only someone really smart could think of something like that."

"But I can't read."

My heart felt like it was being wrung out inside my chest.

"You'll learn, sweetie."

Caleb had no response other than to let out a heavy sigh.

That night, after struggling through Caleb's homework with him, you brought up having him tested again. I was tired and sad and, for the sake of maintaining the peace, I agreed. I have to pick my battles.

They did a lot of tests on our boy. They made him sit in a little room with a strange woman and do comprehension and word recognition tests. They tested his fluency and a dozen other things that sounded too clinical to subject our son to. I didn't like knowing he was being tested.

Even more crushing was hearing that his results qualified him for special tutoring and an Individualized Education Plan through the school district. When you told me that, I cried. Caleb is so, so smart, and everyone was saying he wasn't. No one understood. At least you told me about his results in a gentle way. But I didn't want him to be treated differently. I didn't know if giving him a special plan would make him feel different in a bad way. It hurt to think he might.

Even worse was that - I'm so ashamed to admit this - some part of me was jealous. No one ever tested me to see if I had a reason for struggling in school. But the most crushing thing about the process was that I felt - no, knew - that I had done this to him. If you had carried him instead of me, he would be okay. No one wants to see their babies fight the same battles they lost. Watching our boy trying to read was like watching myself, knowing something was wrong, and having no answers or words of comfort. Watching you push him every day to be better and catch up to his classmates felt like you were rejecting part of me. I didn't want to be close to you afterwards. For the first time in his life, I wanted to protect Caleb from you and how little you understood.

At least three times after getting Caleb's results back, I had to go upstairs and cry while you helped him with his homework. One of those times, I stayed up there so long that Ruby came looking for me. "Mom-ny, I need more paper," she said. I could see a sliver of paper in her hair and knew she had been hard at work with a pair of scissors, cutting itty bitty pieces of paper to glue into a collage. You taught her to use a mini vacuum cleaner to tidy up after herself, but we still find pieces of Ruby-confetti everywhere. I sniffled, pulled myself together, and walked downstairs. I took some paper out of the recycling and handed it to her, wondering where you were.

To my surprise, you and Caleb had abandoned homework and he was sitting on your lap in the living room. I could see he had been crying, and you had your worried Mama Bear face on. You didn't see me, but Caleb did.

"Caleb, I want to tell you a story," you said.

"Is it about a little girl named Santana?" he asked, his voice drooping.

He knows you so well.

But you shook your head. "No, this is a story you probably already know. Do you know the story of the Ugly Duckling?"

Caleb shook his head.

"It's a great story. Once upon a time, there was a mama duck. She laid six perfect eggs and was very proud to sit on them night and day, keeping them warm until they were ready to hatch. She sat and sat and sat. Finally, one spring day, she felt a tapping inside the eggs. She was excited because that meant her babies were coming. When they had all cracked out of their shells, she nuzzled each one and helped them dry off in the sunshine. She loved all her babies so much and wanted them to be happy."

Caleb was watching you, still aware of my presence, but engrossed in your story.

"When the ducklings got big enough, the mama duck taught them how to swim in the pond by their nest. Soon they were all proudly paddling around. They all liked to swim so much, they went swimming every chance they got."

"Like me," Caleb grinned.

You smiled back at him. "Just like you. Well, soon it was time for the ducklings to go to duckling school. When they got there on the first day, one little duckling noticed he wasn't like the other ducklings. His feathers were gray and all the other ducklings were yellow. But it didn't matter, because they were all baby ducks. But then the other ducks told him that his feathers weren't good enough and he shouldn't go to their school. That made the little duckling sad. He asked his mom if he could have yellow feathers instead of gray, but she said that there was no way to change his feathers, and she liked his gray feathers just the way they were. That made him even more sad, because the ducklings at school were not nice to him. They called him names and made fun of his feathers and told him he was not good at swimming or catching fish, even though he was. They were so mean that the little duckling never wanted to go to school. This went on for a long time, until the duckling believed he was no good at anything, even though he was good at so many things. But one day the little duckling realized that he was growing. He was growing bigger and faster than all the other ducks. When he looked at his reflection, he saw that he wasn't a duck at all! He had grown into a beautiful, majestic swan, who could swim faster and longer and catch more fish than any of the ducks. And because he could swim so fast, he was able to go to corners of the pond the ducklings couldn't go by themselves. When he was out exploring, he met other swans, and that made him feel good, because he wasn't different anymore. He made lots of swan friends and spent every day swimming and splashing with them. And he lived happily ever after."

Caleb nodded, his face pensive as he looked down at the carpet. After a minute, he looked up at you, his face serious. "Where can I find other swans?"

If he hadn't been so sad, I might have laughed. You thought you were being clever, and he saw right through you. But you are right; our boy is a swan. He has different talents and challenges than his peers, and sending him to school with ducklings wasn't working. I finally understood you weren't trying to make him feel bad. You actually saw him the same way I do; a unique, talented little boy who happens to struggle with reading. That night when we got in bed, I wrapped myself around you and asked when you wanted to go look at swan schools.

Private school wasn't the worst thing to subject our son to. I have to admit I was impressed with the school we sent him to. We met with his teacher first, and she was gentle and sweet. Not as gentle and sweet as Brenda, but that would have been impossible. For the sake of simplicity, we enrolled Ruby too. Up until then, she had stayed with my parents, who had moved to Columbus six months after she was born, and had been socialized in various playgroups and classes while we worked.

We both went with Ruby to her first day of preschool. Without so much as a glance back at us, she darted into the room, determined to claim the best toys for herself. She was older than a lot of the kids, but she was the smallest child in the room.

"Why is she so _small_, Britt?" you said, worry weakening your voice so it was barely above a whisper. "She's the smallest one in her class. Did I do something wrong?"

I gave you a lighthearted roll of the eyes and rubbed your back. "You did everything right. Ruby's just the right size for Ruby. Plus look at you, you're tiny. I'm not worried about her getting overlooked."

"I know... I just _worry_," you said, still frowning.

Sometimes I have to reassure you even when I'm not totally sure myself, just because that's my job. And to be honest, reassuring you makes me feel better.

"She'll be fine."

At that moment Ruby shrieked and grabbed a cardboard block from a little boy's hand and hit him over the head with it. Though you knew you should scold Ruby, you covered your mouth with your hand and chuckled as the teacher darted over to reprimand her.

"I guess she'll be okay," you admitted.

In Caleb's first few weeks at his new school, they did a lot more tests on our boy. I never wanted to go to the meetings or read the reports. It was too hard for me. So I let you read them and translate, in your delicate way, what I needed to know. You've always been my translator anyway. Some things I prefer to hear through you.

Even though I still felt like we were adjusting to the transition of having Ruby in school full time and Caleb in a new class, you started adding things to our life. Part of me was annoyed, but it's hard to discourage your enthusiasm and work ethic when it comes to our family.

"I was thinking about volunteering to coach little league," you mused one day. "Caleb could be on my team. I think he'd like that."

"He would like that," I said. "But S, you don't know anything about baseball."

You shrugged. "When they're this little, it's mostly about tying shoes and handing out band-aids and snacks."

That was true. The image of you in a baseball cap, bending down to give your team pep talks, was so sweet, I downloaded the Little League Rulebook for you and left it on your desk the next day.

But you didn't stop there. The day after the team's first practice - a smashing success, aside from the fact that Caleb was too shy to bat - you told me that you had a lead on a new job. I was cautious, because I feel like our life is so freshly turned to begin with. But when you told me that the Domestic Peace Center was looking for a new Executive Director, I was thrilled. It's the perfect job for you. You'd be in charge, working for a cause you're passionate about, and you'd get more use out of your charm and charisma than you do doing Human Resources Law work for Denton's consulting business. Since you've served on the Board of Directors at the Domestic Peace Center for four years now, I was certain you'd get the job.

But you weren't so certain. You reminded me on several occasions that there were other people who were more qualified, or older, or had more management experience. There was one applicant who had a Masters in Nonprofit Administration. I reminded you of your work ethic and bicultural intelligence and the fact that you went to Yale. You tried to brush it aside, letting your nerves take over through several rounds of interviews. I tried to be extra supportive those few weeks. You were stressed and felt guilty about possibly leaving Denton, even though you've been bored with your job for seven years now. I think you've stuck with your job for so long because you feel obligated to provide for me and the kids. So during the interview process, I took on more of the cooking and cleaning and homeworking than usual, and you were grateful for that.

I wasn't surprised at all when you called me to tell me they'd offered you the job, but I was so, so happy for you. You had found a job that would utilize all your skills and challenge you in new ways every day. I looked forward to seeing your flame dance a little brighter than it has the past few years. You really come alive when your strengths are used and tested.

As soon as I hung up from that phone call, I ran to the store and picked up things for a special dinner. I asked my parents if they could watch the kids overnight - that's the biggest perk of having my parents in town - and was looking forward to celebrating all night in our bed. I lit candles everywhere. I know it was you who got the job, but I was as excited as if it had been me. My stomach felt fluttery and I couldn't sit still because I couldn't wait to see the joy on your face when you walked in the door.

Your car pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes later than usual, and you took a long time to get out and come to the door. I was standing in the living room, waiting to give you flowers. My face hurt because I was smiling so hard. I bounced on my heels a little bit as you unlocked the door.

The second you walked in, everything deflated. Your face was pale and ashy and your hands hung limp by your sides. The house seemed sickeningly silent and the dancing flames of the candles cast spooky shadows. I couldn't move; I just stood, waiting for you to tell me what was wrong. You stood for a long time in the doorway, looking at me as your chest rose and fell in shaky breaths.

When you spoke, everything shattered.

"My mom has cancer."


	22. Embers

A/N: Wow, what a week, huh? I know a lot of people in the fandom are having a rough time, but I have hope. There is plenty of time for them to get back together and, as always, anything is possible.

Shoutout to Lumosknoxobliviate and _especially_ terriblemuriel, who beta'd this after going to urgent care because she got stung by 12 bees doing yardwork she wasn't even supposed to do. She came home and immediately started editing this chapter. She's been my beta for a year and a half and I couldn't write what I write without her. That kind of determination and loyalty is hard to find.

Thanks for reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter 22: Embers<strong>

My hold on the flowers slackened as I felt cold cascade down my body like ice water. I felt as shaky as you looked. I needed to hold you. Maybe together we'd be able to stay standing.

But as I molded into you, you stayed rigid, holding yourself together so you didn't fall apart. I could understand that. You were still in shock. The tears and anger would come later. As your heart surged and tightened, so did mine. I have never wanted to swallow you up and cradle you and protect you as much as I did then. But I didn't; I stood up and ran my hands up and down your arms, fortifying you, letting you know it was okay to stay boxed up.

"Pancreatic," you croaked, swallowing a few times to unstick your throat. "Stage three."

I shuddered but tried not to show it.

Pancreatic cancer is the most lethal cancer, and stage three is not good. With those three words, you had told me your mom was going to die soon.

You were still zipped up. "Her doctor was concerned because she lost weight and her skin got a bit yellow, so they did some tests and..."

You trailed off, eyes darting around the living room, checking to make sure our home was the same. When life is turned upside down, home needs to be as normal as it can be.

"My dad's trying to get her to do the treatment, but..." You ducked your head and swallowed, trying not to choke or sob, "you know my mom." Your mouth wavered in a forced half-smile which made everything worse.

There is something powerful about tragedy that makes the most infuriating character traits precious. Your mom's stubbornness has been the wedge between the two of you for your entire life, and now you were trying to smile about it.

I scanned your face and shoulders and chest, trying to figure out what you needed from me. I've always been able to feel what you're feeling, but we'd never had this feeling before. Not even when we were apart. Not even when my dad had a stroke. Not even when Ruby was sick as a newborn.

There are things we know we know. There are things we don't know we don't know. And there are things we know we don't know, which is the scariest category of things. Like not knowing that how much time we have left with someone we love.

"What do you need?" I murmured, still searching your face.

You straightened up, surveying the house with a queenly air.

"Let's eat. Not much else to do."

I nodded, pausing for a moment to make sure you really wanted to walk through our evening as if you hadn't just had your life turned on its head. The determined look on your face said that you did, so I shepherded you into the kitchen and we had a quiet dinner. You complimented my cooking, and I filled you in on the kids' day at school. You told me a few things about your job offer, including their salary offer. I was surprised at how high it was, but you assured me it was average for an executive director at such a large organization with your background. After dinner you went into your office, saying you were going to write your letter of resignation for Denton, and shut the door. You came out around midnight, climbed into bed, and kissed my forehead. I tried to wrap around you, spooning you with my hand pressed against your heart, but you took my hand, kissed it, and scooted away a few inches. I took the hint and rolled back to my side of the bed.

* * *

><p>The phone calls started a few days later. Every night you'd call your mom or she'd call you. Even though you wanted to talk to her, you tensed up every time the phone rang, and I had that awful feeling in my tummy and arms and legs like I want to hold you, but I didn't know if it was okay with you. The first few nights you went into your office and I heard you arguing in Spanish about treatment and your father and being around for Caleb and Ruby. I distracted the kids by letting them watch TV downstairs, which we rarely do. I didn't want them to overhear your conversations.<p>

But after a few days, you resigned. There is nothing more futile than trying to make Dolores Lopez do something she doesn't want to do. And part of me couldn't blame her. I knew the treatment was gruesome; my professor in nursing school told me that the treatment for pancreatic cancer is worse than the disease itself.

Then the calls changed and an urgent stillness set in. I watched your face shift between pain and relief as you asked your mother about growing up, her trips to Puerto Rico as a child, and her early days as a mom. I know you wanted to ask about regrets, but you didn't. You only wanted to hear the positive, and that's okay. When the time comes, I will hold the positive and the negative and let you cry. You're allowed to have regrets. You are human and flawed and beautiful.

Your mother came to visit that weekend. She didn't look old like usual. She looked old in the way children look old in the cancer ward. You sat with her in the living room while the kids played. And you really _sat_ with her. You were tense, but you listened better than you've ever listened to her before. You had dropped your weapons, even if your armor was still on. She asked about the kids' new school and how Caleb's reading was going and if Ruby was making friends. You answered her questions, but always turned the conversation back to her.

After she left that night, you made an offhanded comment as you scraped the dishes that you felt you didn't know your mom at all. That broke my heart, because you knew you only had a few months to get to know her. And knowing you, you were going to try.

We went to visit your parents every weekend, unless they made a trip up to see us. Your mother showered Ruby with gifts, and it pained me to watch Caleb look around, wondering if there was something for him too. I started buying gifts and bringing them with us, pretending they were from 'Wella. But when Caleb asked me if he could have a new Lego set instead of a new baseball glove, I knew that he knew better. You knew too, but you didn't say anything or tell me not to bring gifts for him. I knew it was because you were done fighting that battle with your mom.

Every night when we went to bed I would wrap around you, reminding you I was here for you, ready to hold you whenever you needed it. But every night you did the same thing; gave me a sad smile as you kissed my hand and rolled away.

I don't know if I have a right to be sad about that. My mom has never died, and I don't know what you're feeling. It's not that I want to have sex - although I do - it's that I miss feeling like we had something untouchable. Of course it isn't. We've had problems before and nothing is immune to decay. But if we could be a pillar of some sort, the house wouldn't fall in on us. You needed our house to be the same as it was before you found out.

I watched your movements and face whenever I could. You didn't want to talk about your mom, so my only information had to come from your body. I guess I didn't do a good job of being sly about it, because one afternoon you pulled me into the kitchen.

"Britt, you gotta stop acting like that," you whispered, annoyed. "Caleb will figure out something's up, if he hasn't already."

"Acting like what?" I asked, buying time to think of a better response.

You gave me a frustrated roll of the eyes. "Watching me like I'm about to blow up or fall down or something."

"I'm not-"

"Britt," you said, dropping your chin with an accusatory look. "Look," you said, gesturing to the floor. "No eggshells, see?"

I let my eyes roam around the floor. You were getting mad, which makes me more nervous and more likely to _walk on eggshells_.

I swallowed.

"What do you want me to do?"

That's my go-to phrase lately. I wasn't sure what I had done wrong, but you were unhappy, which I didn't want.

"I want you to act like you were a few weeks ago. We're all fine. Caleb and Ruby are doing great in school and you and I are fine. So stop acting like the house is going to come tumbling down."

I thought _fine_ was a generous description of our marriage, but it might get better if I stopped upsetting you. I kept my gaze on the floor and nodded.

"Okay. Sorry."

You gave a satisfied nod and went back into the living room.

I tried to pretend our life was going well. But I couldn't help but wonder when the feelings would slip out from under the rugs and be dragged out of the corners by dust bunnies at the first sign of wavering. A stifling, muggy energy settled in on our house, and I wasn't the only one who noticed. Ruby didn't notice, but Caleb fell into a rut with his reading and got frustrated more easily. His anxiety kept me awake at night. One morning he burst into tears because he couldn't find a pair of matching socks, and I had to pull him into the rocking chair and hold his head to my chest to calm him down. I considered taking him to see a counselor, but you brushed the idea aside, saying Caleb was fine and there were bound to be setbacks in his progress. That's not what I wanted him to see a counselor about, but you couldn't hear that because when one of our children struggles, you assume it's your fault. His anxiety isn't your fault, but not acknowledging his feelings doesn't help him.

Ruby, on the other hand, didn't intrinsically know something was wrong, but she did sense a shift. She wanted to please you more than ever while pretending not to. She digs her heels into the ground about everything until she feels your affection wavering. You never actually waver, but when she can't hold your attention, she panics. One time you didn't see her following you into your office and shut the door in her face unintentionally. Her lip quivered for a minute, staring at the door, before she went into the bathroom and poured you a cup of water. She knocked quietly and when you opened the door, smiled at her and took the cup from her pudgy little hand, all was right in her world. With that single gesture, I realized our daughter responds to crisis the same way you do.

* * *

><p>Mornings got harder for us. We had a routine down to a science when it was just you and me and Caleb, but now with four people to get out the door, I had to get up earlier and earlier. Added to the routine was doing Ruby's hair, which was an ordeal in itself. But those minutes - or was it hours? - in front of the mirror with our daughter became, for me, one of the sweetest parts of being her mom.<p>

You taught me how to comb the oil through her curls and let it set for a minute before styling it. You showed me how water had a different effect on her hair than it did on mine, and were patient with my clumsy hands. I don't remember my hands being this clumsy when I used to braid your hair when we were younger. I don't remember needing oils or special combs. My hands roaming through your hair were always carefree and intimate. But I guess things change.

Ruby asked me a few times why my hair was so slippery and her hair was fuzzy. I have never been as aware of being white as when I am doing our baby girl's hair. When I finally got the hang of it, I felt better about the looks I get in the grocery store and post office. Most people think I adopted Ruby or she belongs to a friend of mine. Sometimes people even look surprised when I say she's my daughter, then embarrassed for being surprised. When we were planning our family, I never thought that would happen. But I suppose I don't have it as bad as you do. One time you went to the grocery store wearing sweats with Caleb and someone asked you how long you'd been his nanny. From then on, your wore a blazer and jewelry to the store with our kids. I was shocked that in this day and age, people still have such old ideas about social class and race and family. I hope that's changed by the time our children have children.

Every morning Ruby would hop up on a stool in front of the mirror and make a declaration as to her prefered hairstyle for that day. It wasn't a suggestion, it was a _decree_. We would talk and sing songs as I combed and styled her hair, trying not to tug on her sensitive scalp.

I noticed Ruby was fond of looking at herself in the mirror. In addition to gazing at herself while I did her hair, she spends hours on our phones, looking at pictures and videos of herself and saying how pretty she is. At first we thought it was cute. Well, you still do. But I don't want her to think the only great thing about her is that she's beautiful. She's smart and sassy and not afraid to march to her own drum. She needs to know those things are more important.

But then one day she told me that when she grows up, she wants to be as pretty as me, and that broke my heart. Our daughter is so far beyond beautiful, and I never want her to compare herself to other girls. Not even you.

So I try to distract her with songs I used to sing as a kid. Some mornings we sing '_Down By the Bay Where The Watermelons Grow_' and she calls out random words to challenge me, to see if I can come up with a rhyme on the spot. One day I was so tired, I became a fit of giggles. '_Did you ever see a cactus using prophylactics?_' had you doubled over laughing in the hall while Ruby frowned in confusion, moving on to the next verse: '_Did you ever see a Mom-ny disagreeing with Mitt Romney?_' She got frustrated with my grown-up jokes she didn't understand and started yelling "Mom-ny, sing it the right way! That's not how it goes!"

I love our daughter, but sometimes, when I'm this tired, I feel like grabbing her by the shoulders and saying, _Calm! Down! _

You gave her a sympathetic giggle from the doorway and sang, 'Did you ever see a Ruby being such a beauty?'"

And at that, she broke into a grin. "You and Mom-ny are the prettiest."

That helped me get my giggles under control. She's a little spitfire, but underneath all her fireworks is a marshmallow. Just like you.

I finished Ruby's hair while making up rhymes about bears singing in their lairs and dancers knowing all the answers.

Ruby has a way of asking questions that let everyone know how sharp her mind is. "Mom-ny, why is it okay to hiccup loud but if I burp I have so say 'scuse me?"

She had a point. There wasn't much of a difference. But that didn't make it less annoying when Caleb got the hiccups and after every hiccup, Ruby shouted "'_Scuse you!_"

Ruby learned that she could get what she wanted if she asked both of us separately. When I told her she couldn't have her glitter pens back after the _decorating my purse _incident, she asked you, out of earshot. When I found Ruby coloring with them - thankfully on paper - I confronted you.

"I had no idea!" you defended. "How was I supposed to know you took them away?"

"Because they were on top of the refrigerator?" I frowned, annoyed.

You sighed but made no movement to take the pens away. She shook your head with a grin. "Do you ever wonder if our daughter is an evil genius?"

You were trying to get me to laugh and forget about the fact that we weren't being a united front with her. Usually I'm the one who makes jokes to ease tension, but when you do it, I just get more angry. I don't like you avoiding talking about parenting. It doesn't help us be a united front.

* * *

><p>Work is a nice break from the tension of our house. I'm good at my job. The students like me and I'm never bored or angry. When I walk down the halls, someone always nods at me and calls, "'Sup, Ms. L-P?" I like it. I even have a little group of girls that come to my office every day to get a piece of candy from the jar I keep on my desk next to the bowl of condoms. They ask me a lot of personal questions, which is sweet, but makes me feel awkward. I have to dodge questions about my life because now, more than ever, I need my work and my home life to be separate. If things are okay at work, at least I have that. But I did put a picture of Caleb and Ruby on my desk, and the girls squealed over it, asking tons of questions about them. When a well-meaning girl asked what their dad looks like, I felt cornered. I gave her a tense smile and said, "My kids don't have a dad." And it's true, they don't. But for some reason I couldn't say that they have two moms.<p>

It's not that I'm ashamed to be married to you. You _know_ I'm not. It's just that I don't know how to come out at my new job. I don't know if that would be okay. With my hospice clients, I never talked about _anything_ personal, not even my kids. But working in a school feels more fixed and in the spotlight. I have a desk and an office and everyone knows me as the nurse and health teacher. And I'm not stupid; I know teaching horny teenagers about sex means they're imaging my sex life, and I didn't want to feed into that. Lately my sex life has been imaginary anyway.

One girl doesn't ask many personal questions. Her name is Jamie and she was in the first freshman Health class I taught. She sat in the second row to the back, her faded black backpack slung under her chair as she fidgeted with the cuffs of her sweatshirt and examined the frayed ends of her hair. She's very pretty. Boys love her. She loves boys. She's always trying different makeup and clothes to look older and more appealing to them. But more than anything, underneath the big sweatshirt and second-hand stylish boots, I see a little girl who needs something. The students who hang around my office alone always need something more than a icepack or a piece of candy.

When she's not around other students, she's a sweetheart. She chatters with a nervous smile and giggles, like she's embarrassed about something. Sometimes she pretends to be sick and sleeps on the cot in the corner. I see her going into the principal's office a lot, which is confusing. I didn't have a reason beyond curiosity when I pulled her file from the school records, but when I saw it, I was shocked. The nervous girl who giggled about her favorite TV shows and cute boys and how she borrowed her outfit from her older cousin had a thicker file than any of the students facing expulsion. I thumbed through it and was shocked to see that Jamie, too, was facing expulsion. Even more heartbreaking were the notes jotted down next to her student info sheet:

_Mother died when student was 4_

_Father incarcerated_

_Lives with aunt - Flora? Fiona? Has been unresponsive to phone calls._

The next time she came into my office for a piece of candy, I asked her if she would bring her lunch to my office and eat with me. Her eyes darted around like a cornered animal, but she agreed. When she brought in her plate of pizza and a juice box, she looked everywhere in the room but at me. She got more nervous when I shut the door.

"Am I, like, in trouble or something?" she asked.

"No way," I said, acting casual to help her relax. "I like to chat with my students and it's easier to talk without people coming in and out, you know?"

Jamie nodded but drew inwards, slouching in her seat until she realized that was an awkward way to eat her pizza and sat hunched over it, taking bites so small, I knew she had practiced eating daintily for boys.

"So what's new with you?" I chirped, pulling out my lunch bag and setting my sandwich and water bottle on my desk. "How are things?"

She shrugged.

"Got a new boyfriend this week?"

Jamie let out a nervous giggle. "I dunno," she shrugged. "I think Kenny and I are going to the mall after school today."

Apparently going to the mall with someone is dating these days, but that seems like such an awkward way to date. Big groups of teenagers go every day after school, so going to the mall with a boy was about being seen. That's the least romantic thing to do. If you could get a guy to buy you something, it was getting serious, or at least someone wanted to be perceived as serious.

I asked her about Kenny, who I knew had a thick file too, and as she talked about him, I remembered what it was like to be fifteen and excited about someone. So I didn't judge. Besides, maybe another student who was always getting in trouble made her feel less alone. No one wants to be alone.

We had lunch together a few times a week. Gradually she told me little things about her life. She told me she slept at different relatives' houses every night, and that she didn't have her own closet or a desk to do her homework, so she was always losing it. She told me that all her teachers hate her because she talks back, which I was surprised to hear. She's always polite with me. And of course, she talked a lot about Kenny and how cute he is. The day he bought her a necklace, she was grinning from ear to ear. Over the course of a few months, I came to adore her. I would think about her as you and I sat around our table eating dinner with our children, wondering who she was eating dinner with and if anyone asked about her day. I hoped my lunches with her would be enough to make up for the family dinners she probably wasn't having.

I didn't tell you much about Jamie, but I did tell you about the strange dating behaviors of my students after the kids went to bed one night. You chuckled. "I remember buying us matching bracelets at the mall when we were twelve." I giggled back and kissed you on the cheek. You smiled at me, and that single smile calmed me in a sudden, unexpected way. You let yourself breathe for a minute and in that minute, I could too. Remembering happier times was a salve I didn't know we needed.

I figured since we could breathe a little easier, it might be okay to push you. I wanted to make sure you were getting support about your mother's illness from your friends, so I asked.

"Have you talked to Elinor recently?"

"Yeah, a bit. She's been putting her energy into Andrew and Eliza. It's awkward to talk to her though."

Elinor had wanted so badly to have a baby with Danielle, but after months of arguing and processing and a few couples' therapy sessions, Elinor had told us it wasn't going to happen. I was sad for her; she's known her whole life she wants to be a mom. And she _is_ a mom, but it's not on the terms she expected, and it's to children she didn't get to see take their first steps or say their first words. She said that she had decided to choose her marriage over having a baby, and I had a lot of respect for that, even if it made me sad that she was giving up one of her dreams. But she works hard to keep what she has. Just like you.

"Why is it awkward?"

"She won't talk to me about Andrew and Eliza and how she's having a hard time."

"Why not? She used to talk to you all the time about that."

"She thinks I'm falling apart or something. Which I'm _not_."

Your insistence that you were fine was wearing on me. To the world, you were fine. But you weren't _fine_. You jumped at little noises and rarely met my eyes. You never held me like you used to and I heard you grinding your teeth in your sleep, which you've never done before. You were pouring energy into your new job and loving it, even if it raised your stress exponentially. You were involved with the kids and had wrapped up an amazing Little League season, coming in third in the league. And on top of all that, you were helping your parents get your mother's affairs in order. I was in awe of your productivity; if my mom were dying, I wouldn't be able to focus on _anything_. You, on the other hand, were hyper-focused. You are always the one who takes care of logistics. But me? I don't know what my role is. Maybe I don't have one.

I've always been able to count on Julie for support when things get hard. But this feels unmanageable, like even Julie, the strongest friend I have, wouldn't know what to say. So I gave Julie my lesser worries and let her soothe those.

We met for coffee one Saturday when you'd offered to let me have the afternoon off while you took the kids to your mom's. I was torn; I know my presence in your parents' house adds to your stress, but I don't like the thought of missing critical interactions or information. But you insisted I stay in Columbus, so I did.

Julie looks amazing these days. She has more color in her face and her energy has blossomed as she established herself in the real estate field and taken on the task of single-parenthood with a vengeance. Zoe is doing well in her school and sometimes I have a sneaking suspicion that she and Ruby are conspiring.

"You look good!" I told her. "In fact..." I gave her a sly smile. "You look like you've been getting laid."

Julie flushed scarlet and looked away, confirming my suspicion with a smile.

"Who is he!" I demanded with genuine interest; having a chance to gossip with my friend made me feel younger and less tired.

Julie looked around the coffee shop, trying not to smile as she shushed me.

"It's a secret," she whispered.

"Julieeee," I whined. "At least tell me how you met him."

Julie grinned wider into her coffee before her smile faltered.

"Parent-teacher conference," she whispered.

I clapped my hand over my mouth as I gasped.

Julie glared at me. "That's why it's a secret! You can't tell anyone, Britt."

It seemed a little risky for Julie to be dating her daughter's teacher, but it was the end of the school year and, in truth, I didn't care who he was, as long as he was being good to her. And from the look on her face, he was.

"You know I can keep a secret," I said, my smile turning serious for a second. "And I'm happy for you. Is it serious?"

Julie giggled as she took a sip of coffee. "I dunno," she shrugged, trying to brush it off. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

That made me sad to hear. She divorced Tim four years ago and hasn't dated anyone since. I understand that she's hesitant to get attached to a man - who wouldn't be, in her shoes? - but I didn't want her to be lonely. So I told her that. She was receptive, but sad and frustrated with herself. After a while, she turned the conversation to me.

She knew your mom was dying, but she didn't know how hard it was. How could she? Your unspoken rule about not talking about it had bled over into me. I gave Julie the latest medical update and then changed the subject to my work.

I realized Julie was the perfect person to talk to about Jamie. She would understand how heartbreaking it was to watch Jamie struggle. So I told her Jamie's story.

"Her mom died when she was little. Her dad's been in prison for a while and she's been shuffled between various relatives her whole life. She doesn't have a mom and she really needs one."

I paused for a moment, realizing how much I cared for Jamie. "She's a good kid inside," I said. "I _know_ she is. But she's so scared and angry that she gets in trouble a lot. All the other teachers think she's a bad kid..." I trailed off, because if I actually said it out loud, it would sound crazy. I closed my eyes for a second before opening them to examine my fingernails.

Julie understood what I was dancing around. She clicked her tongue and gave me a sad smile. "You want to adopt her, don't you?"

When she said that, something inside me released. But I couldn't respond to what she'd said, so I just stared at my hands clasped around my mug.

She let out a heavy but sympathetic exhale. "Britt, you know you can't."

I think I needed her to say that. But still, it was hard to hear, even if she said it in the sweetest possible way. I imagined what it would be like to say no to Jamie if she ever asked for what I wanted to give her. My throat got tight and my eyes prickled. My face scrunched up as I wiped away a few tears.

"She needs someone who cares about her and knows she's a good person. She needs something more than getting shuffled through the system."

I shook for a few moments and cried for Jamie. I cried the tears Jamie covered up with her makeup and nervous laughter and tough-girl attitude. I cried for Jamie because no one else did.

"Britt, she _has_ someone who cares about her and knows she's a good person."

I shook my head, remembering the note scrawled on her file. _Aunt unresponsive to phone calls. _

"I'm talking about you," Julie said, her voice soft.

I looked up, my tears cooling a little.

"You don't have to be her mom to help her believe in herself. There's a reason you're her favorite teacher."

"I don't know if I'm her favorite," I mumbled.

"You are," Julie said with a gentle smile. "There's no way she doesn't know you care about her. It only takes one person."

Sometimes I feel like the only human in a world full of robots. Who could see a kid like Jamie and not feel like their heart was ripped out of their chest? Talking to Julie about it gave me the nerve to bring it up with you.

I knew what I was about to suggest was crazy and I knew it was _terrible_ timing. I _knew_ that. But sometimes you and I dream crazy things and they end up being the best real things. Like spending our lives together. Like having a baby. Like having a second baby. Like loving with nothing held back.

I swallowed. "Santana?" I asked you. My voice was scratchy.

"What?" you asked over your shoulder from the bathroom.

"Do you ever think about having a bigger family?"

You froze with the toothbrush in your cheek. You turned to face me. "We're not having another baby," you declared, eyes wide.

"Oh, I know, I know..." I said, waving my hand through the air. "No more babies."

You let out a sigh of relief and resumed brushing your teeth. "No more babies," you echoed.

You brushed for a few moments longer.

"But what about, like... something besides a baby?"

You spat out your toothpaste. "A pet?" you asked, your words garbled as you rinsed.

"No..."

You tilted your head as you came to sit down next to me on the bed. "Aw, Britt..." you cooed as you brushed my hair behind my ear. "Did you let that big heart of yours get snagged on one of your students?"

I looked down at the floor. You know me so darn well, Santana.

"What's the kid's name?"

"Jamie," I mumbled.

"How old?"

"She's fifteen."

I pictured Jamie sitting in my office, giggling nervously as she hunched over her pizza. You watched my face as I thought about her. Maybe you would be open to talking about it.

"We could parent a teenage girl, right? We'd be good at it."

You stroked the side of my face and nodded. "We would. And we _will_. Before we know it, Ruby will be thirteen." You gave me a sad smile and a peck on the cheek.

I knew your answer would be no. And, like with Julie, I needed you to say no for me. Even though you'd been sweet about it, I couldn't help but feel you didn't want to hear about my work.

It was hard to imagine Ruby as a teenager without a sense of dread. She's already so clever, and it will only get worse. She has realized that my Spanish isn't very good and started using it to her advantage. I understand a lot, but I'm not fluent like the three of you.

One morning at breakfast Ruby asked Caleb something in Spanish I didn't understand.

"No entiendo, Ruby," I said. "In English, please."

Caleb looked at you and answered Ruby's question in English.

Ruby cast a sidelong glance at me and responded to Caleb in Spanish.

"What was that, Ruby?" you said, raising your eyebrow.

"I DIDN'T SAY NUFFING!" Ruby yelled in a sudden explosion.

"That is _unacceptable_," you said, shutting the refrigerator more forcefully than necessary. "We don't speak Spanish when Mom-ny says she can't understand. It's rude and it hurts her feelings. This afternoon you will come right home after school and help her fold the laundry as an apology."

"But I have Tae Kwon Do!"

"You should have thought of that before you were rude to Mom-ny."

"But I'm _sorry_! I'm really, really sorry, Mom-ny!" Ruby whined, looking at me in hopes I would rescue her.

"Saying sorry doesn't mean you get to go to Tae Kwon Do," you said, pouring her a glass of milk.

Ruby trembled for a second before bursting into tears. "You don't love me!" she wailed.

She had aimed right for your Achilles' heel; you will do _anything_ to make our children feel loved because you know how painful it is to wonder if your mother loves you. I was worried you'd take back the consequence you'd given Ruby.

You're a good parent, Santana. You know I believe that. Watching you be a mom has been the most beautiful part of our marriage. But sometimes with Ruby, you're too close to make the right choices. Your relationship with her is like standing with your nose against the mirror; you can't see anything beyond yourself and after a while you can't even see your eyes because your breath has fogged up the glass. I wish I could coax you away.

I gave Ruby a regretful smile as I knelt next to her chair, stepping in to make sure you didn't backtrack. "Roo, we love you _so_ much. Forever and ever. Nothing you could do would change how much we love you. But we don't love your _behavior_ right now."

I always say that to her when she's misbehaving. By saying that, I'm showing you how to handle her when she gets manipulative. And more than that, it shows we're a united front. That's more important than being right.

But our little teapot continued to escalate and eventually I had to carry her, kicking and screaming, back to her room, shutting the door with firm instructions to not come out until she was told to do so.

Since your mom got sick, I've felt better about disciplining Ruby. Maybe I see her getting spoiled by your mom and want to make sure she doesn't spin out of control. Or maybe I need to feel I have a bigger place in her life, since your mom doesn't make a lot of space for me. I don't need a lot of space. But at the very least, I need to feel like I'm equally Ruby's mom.

Once when I was frustrated with Ruby constantly getting out of bed after we put her down, my mom told me a trick she used to use with me. "Imagine you've got a gate around you, and that gate is only open some of the time. Ruby will learn to recognize when the gate is open and when it's not. After bed, the gate is closed." I told you about the gate and it helped you set limits with her better, although you still struggled. You did well not letting Ruby interrupt you while you were on the phone, and you never let Ruby tear your attention away from helping Caleb with his homework. After a while, Ruby learned not to bother to interrupt you while you were doing those things.

One night we got in bed and, rather than rolling away from me, you rolled towards me and kissed me on the cheek. It surprised me, as if you'd realized I was in bed with you all these months. It made me happy, so I kissed you back on the lips. You let me kiss you for longer than a usual goodnight kiss and I got excited. Were we actually going to have sex? We hadn't had sex in months, not since a few weeks before your mom got sick. The possibility was thrilling to me. I pulled myself into you and let my hand slide up the back of your sleep shirt. You smiled into me and my heart fluttered. That was a _yes_.

I rolled on top of you and started rocking as my hands traced the curve of your waist. I bent to kiss your neck and lick your ear and heard you shudder in anticipation. My whole body was wound tight, but especially my chest. I wanted to be with you so badly. The feeling in my chest shot down my back, past your hands. My whole body warmed. I felt almost out of control, like if I weren't connected to you I would fall over or something. I could feel you wanted me too, but you were holding back. You had just gotten my shirt over my head when we heard Ruby singing "Ma-maaaaaa!" from down the hall.

You froze, your lips hardening against my neck.

I panicked. We couldn't stop or we'd lose momentum and go back to sleeping alongside each other. I kissed you desperately and you squirmed.

"She's fine," I breathed against you. "She just wants attention."

"I should check on her," you said, turning your face away from me.

"Baby, _please_," I whispered. "Please, please, please. Don't go."

You wriggled and rolled me onto my side.

"Santana, we _need_ this," I said, clinging to your shirt. "I miss being with you."

"Ruby's upset," you said, pulling away.

"No she's not!" I gasped, exasperated. "She's just playing you. Remember the gate!"

But you were already halfway out of bed.

"Fuck the gate, B," you said. "I will never ignore my daughter."

And with that slap in the face, you fled into the hall.

* * *

><p>We hid your mother's illness remarkably well from the children. They knew something was different because they were seeing 'Wella more often, but they didn't know she was sick.<p>

When time came for your mother to be transferred to Hospice, we planned an extra long last day at your parents' house before she was moved. You told me that your mom had a gift for Ruby, and that you were pretty sure I'd like it too.

"What about Caleb?" I asked under my breath.

You told me the gift was for Caleb too, and not to worry.

It's been excruciating to watch Caleb as he observes Dolores and Ruby. There's no possible way he doesn't feel left out. We try and try to make him feel included, but he's too perceptive. He knows Ruby is the favorite, and every minute he sits quietly next to me while Ruby is on your mom's lap, my heart breaks a little.

I was stunned at the final gift your mom gave Ruby. Your dad carried out a box that was a little bigger than a microwave, topped with an enormous bow. When Ruby tried to pick it up and shake it, you clapped your hand on the top and said, "No shaking, Ruby. This is a gift for the whole family, not just you, okay?" When Ruby nodded in understanding, you grinned at her. "Okay. Open it."

When she lifted the lid, she let out an ear-piercing shriek of joy.

"A KITTY!" she screamed, her hands diving into the box. "'Wella gave me a kitty!"

"'Wella gave _us_ a kitty," you corrected.

I was stunned. As Ruby pulled out a little black and white fuzzball, I gasped. The kitten was _adorable_, mewing as it hung in Ruby's grasp, eyes wide as it surveyed your parents' living room.

Your eyes met mine with a smug grin before you looked back at Ruby and started fussing over the kitten.

When you were in law school, I relentlessly bothered you about getting a cat. I was bored and lonely and missing Lord Tubbington, who had to be put down our senior year of college. You had good reasons for not getting a cat then; we weren't financially stable, we needed to keep our renting options open, etc. I eventually gave up, and when we started trying for Caleb, getting a cat was low on the priority list.

But now you were smiling in a way that said, _See? I promised you we would get one someday. _In most situations, I would have been angry at you for making a big decision like that without asking me, but in this instance, I adored you for it.

"Is it a boy kitty or a girl kitty?" Ruby demanded, looking at your mom who was lying on the couch.

Your mom gave her a tired smile that still twinkled in the corners of her eyes. "It's a boy kitty."

Ruby was so excited she was shaking. I got nervous; would she be able to hold the kitten and not crush him with her enthusiasm?

"His name is Simon!" Ruby shrieked, elated. "Simon Maia Lopez!"

I giggled, amused by Ruby's instant certainty about the cat's name and the fact that she didn't care that Maia is usually a girl's name.

"What about Pierce?" you asked, tilting your head with a curious expression that also held a hint of warning.

"His fur is too dark to be a Pierce," Ruby dismissed, snuggling the kitten protectively against her chest.

"But you have dark hair and _you're_ a Pierce," you said.

"But _obviously_ Simon is Pordo Reekin like me."

"Simon has white fur too, like Mom-ny's blonde hair. See? Look on his belly."

You are so cute, Santana, trying to make sure I understood the cat was part of our whole family, not just the Lopez clan Dolores tries to section off. Saying Simon was 'also a Pierce' in front of your mom would have meant a lot to me a few months ago, but now it wasn't necessary. We're done fighting that battle with your mom. We have other battles to prepare for.

"It's okay," I smiled. "The cat can be a Lopez. Simon Maia Lopez-Pierce is a big name for a small cat."

"Well… I don't want Mom-ny to be sad..." Ruby frowned, pondering her dilemma. "Simon'll have to grow into a big name," she said decisively. "Simon Maia Lopez-Pierce!"

The rest of the afternoon was sweet, watching you and Ruby fuss over the kitten. Caleb was wary at first, but by the time your dad asked me to help him with dinner, Caleb was laughing and dangling a string for Simon to play with.

It was almost happy enough to forget that this was the last time we'd ever see your mom at your parents' house. Walking into the quiet kitchen and listening to the slide of plates as your dad set the table, I sank back into the heaviness.

Your dad looked tired. Who wouldn't be? I watched him for a moment, studying the grace with which he set the table. Everything he did was gentle and intentional. As it should be, considering the occasion.

He stopped when he noticed I was staring. He tilted his head, asking me what was wrong. My lip quivered and before I knew what I was doing, I was giving him a hug. His arms wrapped around me and squeezed. I tried not to cry, imagining what it must feel like to set the table for the last dinner he'd have with his wife in the house they'd lived in for over twenty years.

When he spoke, his words vibrated through his chest against my ear.

"How did we get so lucky?" he asked.

I almost choked. "What?" I asked.

"How did we both find such wonderful wives?"

And then I started bawling. I felt stupid; it was _his_ wife dying, not mine. But like always, I absorb everything around me. Aside from Simon and Ruby, everyone in the house was silently screaming in pain.

He rubbed my back and let me cry for a minute before patting my shoulder, signalling it was time to get dinner on the table.

It's amazing to me that, faced with his wife's death, your dad still has that kind of wonder and gratitude. He and I aren't so different. We both work in the medical field and face death more often than most people. But your father has achieved a level of groundedness I don't think I ever will.

When our struggles die, a part of us dies too. I will be with you for every part of this journey. I am your wife and when I said my vows, I meant them. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, through hard times and through good, until we are ashes to ashes, dust to dust. As long as we both remember that, we'll be okay.


	23. Ashes

A/N: Thanks for your patience with my posting! I know you got accustomed to chapters every week, but as my story gets heavier and more intricate, it requires more emotional energy to write, and I can't write as quickly.

This chapter is being posted all the way from Germany where I'm at a wedding with my family. I've had sections of this chapter written for over a year, other parts fresh from my fingers. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to my trusty beta Muriel.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23: Ashes<strong>

"Mama, do I look pretty for 'Wella's party?" Ruby asked, looking up at you wistfully as she clung to your hand.

Your eyes scanned the lawn outside the funeral home, looking everywhere but our daughter's face.

"You look beautiful, Roo," you responded.

It was a hollow reflex. You hadn't even noticed Ruby had paired her ruby slippers, which she assumed were named for her, with her pink party dress, a fashion decision you normally would have argued against.

Ruby could tell you were preoccupied, which made her nervous and prone to ask more questions, begging for attention.

"Will 'Wella be glad I wore my sparkle shoes?"

Your attention drifted further away and I sensed your heart rate pick up, as if you were scanning the lot for danger. "Uh huh."

Caleb took a few steps and grasped your other hand, holding it between his own, as if to say, _it's okay, Mama._ I couldn't tell if he led you or if you walked towards your cousin on your own, but I found myself standing out of earshot with Ruby, who was confused and hurt by your absent answers.

I knelt beside her. She still didn't understand that your mom is dead. When it happened, you had asked me to explain it to her, saying you weren't sure what words to use. I was relieved you were giving me something specific to do; through the whole time your mother was in hospice, I felt useless. You didn't want to talk, you didn't want me to take more responsibility with the kids, you had no appetite, and you didn't want to have sex. Being asked to have a conversation about death with our daughter was a relief.

But when I had gone into Ruby's room, I lost my nerve and told her we wouldn't be seeing 'Wella for a long time. Later that day when she asked you when 'Wella would be back, you glared at me. I shrugged and later told you she hadn't understood when I explained it.

I knew I had to explain it to her now. We were about to go into the service and she would see people crying and hear them talking about her beloved 'Wella. I shouldn't have waited so long, but I didn't know where to start. Death is confusing for me, still, even after working in hospice for six years.

I tried to think of the last time Ruby was sad, so I could at least help her understand why you were vacant and unresponsive today.

"Ruby, remember when Simon hid under the couch and you couldn't find him for a long time?" I asked in an almost-whisper.

Simon hadn't grown very big in the few months we'd had him, but he was an active kitten, as clever and conniving as our daughter. He figured out how to get into the cabinets under the kitchen sink, regardless of the baby lock, and despite his small stature, managed to get on top of the refrigerator and eat though the five bags of kitten treats we had up there. He sleeps on Ruby's bed every night, and my mother once said that even in sleep, they look like they're conspiring. Ever her constant companion, if Ruby can't find Simon, she spins into a panic, worried that her furry sidekick is plotting mischief without her.

At the memory of losing Simon for a few hours, Ruby gave me a serious nod, her brow creasing.

"Remember how you were sad?"

Ruby kept nodding.

"Mama feels sad like that right now because 'Wella is gone."

Ruby studied me for a moment before she shook her head. "'Wella doesn't fit under the couch." Her statement sounded as if she were breaking bad news to me.

I took her hand and held it, stroking the top with my thumb as I tried to figure out what to say. Her hand is still pudgy and smooth and comforting, triumphantly innocent and carefree. I want her to hold on to that as long as she can, but standing in the corner of the lawn at a funeral home was in stark discord with her innocent vivacity.

"'Wella is under a big couch in the sky with God."

As soon as I said it, I regretted it.

We don't talk about God often in our house. You don't believe in God, at least not in the traditional sense. I don't know if I believe in a traditional God either, but I know that we're not confined to a single meaningless lifetime. At least I hope we're not, because that means I only get to spend one lifetime with you. How can something that feels infinite be confined to only one hundred years?

Sometimes I tell Caleb about God when he's scared or I'm squeezed into his bed after stories and he's drifting into sleep. Whatever Caleb and Ruby grow up to believe is fine with me, as long as they have a source of strength, gratitude, and treat other people with kindness. That's what religion boils down to when you take the rules and rituals and politics away. But I hadn't talked with Ruby about God other than to tell her that God loves her and wants her to be happy, to which she replied, _I bet God would give me back my glitter pens if she was here right now. _

"Why does God have such a big couch?" Ruby frowned.

I took a deep breath, deciding to avoid further conversation about God's couch.

"Ruby," I said, softening my voice as I continued to stroke her hand. "'Wella's not going to come back."

"Why?"

I braced myself. "She died." Without waiting for her to ask questions, I said, "Dying is like sleeping forever. She's not going to wake up and we're not going to see her again."

Ruby looked concerned, eyes raking over the blades of grass between us as her forehead crinkled. Then she heard a dog bark and perked up.

"Yoshi's here!" she cheered, her hand slipping out of my grasp as she ran over to begin her theatrical greeting of Yoshi.

Somehow her lack of understanding crushed me even more.

I looked around the lawn for you, seeing you standing with Elinor, who had her hand on your arm. Caleb was still hanging on your other arm, looking around the lawn. I love to watch him as he watches people, because I know he's seeing things no one else notices. Elinor was fixated on your conversation, but unlike everyone else, she didn't have a phony sympathetic smile plastered on her face. Maybe that's why you were talking to her.

I felt a pang of jealousy; I couldn't help but think that you were having a longer conversation with her than you'd had with me in weeks. But I quickly chastised myself. What had happened to my compassion for you? Isn't compassion, paired with commitment and respect, the basis of a healthy marriage? I don't know how I got so off track. There is no room in our marriage right now for jealousy or criticism, and I was letting them creep in.

Even if our marriage is stretched opaque-tight, I take comfort in the fact that our children are thriving. There has to be hope for us if the kids are doing well, right? Ruby is learning to settle arguments verbally and to not interrupt, and thanks to your tireless support and advocacy, Caleb is almost at grade level with his reading. I don't care what grade level he's at, but a few weeks ago when he brought home a perfect spelling test with a smiley face drawn on top, I wanted to frame it, just to see his face shine with pride every time he looks at it.

I followed Ruby, making my way through the crowd and talking to Julie for a few minutes before making obligatory rounds, thanking people for coming and letting them know there would be a small reception following the service. Everyone gave amplified or fake expressions of mourning, but I felt detached from it all. It wasn't my mom who had died. I hardly knew Dolores, other than who she was to you and your dad. To me, she was someone who disliked me no matter how happy we were and how proud I was to be with you. When she died, I felt your strangled grief retching inside you, but when I was alone, a terrible, selfish part of me was relieved that I'll never be cropped out of our family pictures again by her.

When people started shuffling inside, I found Ruby and Caleb and took them by the hand. We took our seats at the front with your dad and I reminded Ruby she had to sit still and be quiet and that Santa Claus was watching, to which she inquired, _Are Santa Claus and God the same thing?_ That was more of a philosophical discussion than I felt was appropriate for a funeral, so I gave her a dismissing smile and told her if she sat still and quiet, I'd let her have extra cookies at the reception. After confirming that the cookies were, in fact, chocolate chip, she turned forward, gripping her hands in her lap and sitting stiff and straight.

The first to speak was your mom's sister Maritza. I haven't seen her since you told me your uncle used to beat her, and as I watched her speak, I could hear a weariness that doesn't come from lack of sleep or age, but from a life of hardship few people can comprehend. I looked for Julie, finding her a few rows back with Zoe on her lap, arms wrapped around her, head tilted against her daughter's as she listened. She looked so alive; I couldn't help but feel there is hope for all the women in the world who get hurt. I'm proud to be married to someone who fights on the front lines to help women like Julie get their lives back.

After your aunt gave a predictable and rehearsed review of your mother's life, your cousin Carlos spoke. Since your parents didn't have a son, he stood in place of one. Everyone knew he was your mom's favorite nephew, even if he is from your dad's side of the family. He was charismatic, bringing levity to the room, but not crossing the line into disrespectful humor. On the other side of Caleb, I could feel you tensing, knowing you were next. You'd prepared a speech, but hadn't wanted me to read it or listen when I offered.

As you cleared your throat and adjusted the microphone, you were poised and mournful, yet dignified. I was so proud of you. Maybe you inherited more of your dad's grace than I give you credit for. You pulled the note cards you'd prepared out of your blazer pocket and set them on the podium, flashing a nervous smile at Carlos. But when you spoke, it felt too rehearsed and tight. Your voice strained for authenticity. You looked like that courageous politician I always remind you you are, but now it felt eerie and detached.

"My mother was someone who found change very difficult. Now, with her passing, I'm reminded of why." You cleared your throat again. "Sometimes change is really, really hard. You think that the world could never possibly go back to the way it was. And it won't. When people leave or die, we are forever altered.

"For many years, my mother and I had a strained relationship. Brief phone calls and emails about my career with indirect references to my beautiful wife and children were all that passed between us." Your eyes flickered to me and I gave you a smile for bravery. "Only in recent months have we come to understand each other in a way that allowed us to see our similarities."

You looked up at Ruby, who was still perched on the edge of her seat, her mouth softened and her eyes wide with wonder. She didn't understand what was being said, but she was in awe of you. When you saw her gaze fixed on you, you shifted and your voice eased away from its rigid recitation.

Having a daughter has been hard for you; she is that dreaded mirror, that constant threat of turning into your own captor. But no matter how much you fear you will, I know you will never treat our daughter the way your mother treated you.

"My mother and I learned a lot about forgiveness in recent months. When she was diagnosed," you left out the words _with cancer_, "we fought to understand and forgive each other. The fact that we both tried – despite our shared affinity for insisting we are right," you forced a grin, "– means the world to me.

"Some people say that time heals everything, but I don't believe that's true. Wounds heal, but there is tissue that remains forever changed underneath. My mother's life, and her passing, are proof of this. I carry that scar tissue now, wishing I had spent more time trying to understand her and sharing the gifts in my life with her. I hope that everyone here can take one step – even a small one – towards forgiving someone today. Thank you."

I was so proud of you. While your speech was rehearsed and proper, it held an unpolished gem of authenticity. You hadn't claimed that everything had been resolved between you. You hadn't sugarcoated the things that frustrated you about your mom. You'd gracefully sidestepped how she mistreated our son. But most of all, you'd found something everyone could relate to about loss and turned it into a wish.

Your dad spoke next, his slow, deep speech calming me, though it agitated the guests who aren't used to sitting in sadness. He spoke fondly of meeting Dolores, falling in love, and the many joys they had shared. Something passed over his face as he looked at you, giving you a sad, earnest smile.

"I've heard it said that people we love can never really leave us. One of the greatest gifts my wife gave me was our beautiful daughter," he said. "I get to keep being a father and grandfather even now that my wife has passed, so I know she's not really gone. She's still smiling back at me in my daughter's face."

I felt you stiffen, but I couldn't tell if you were fighting back tears or his suggestion that you carry so much of your mother in you.

"My wife and I were lucky that we had time to prepare for this. I got to tell her everything that I needed to say before she passed. But somehow, no matter how many times I say it, it never feels like enough. Dolores, honey, I love you and miss you. I hope you know how happy I was with you and how lucky everyone was to know you. Rest in peace."

I reached across Caleb's lap for your hand. You held it, stiff, not meeting my eyes. As soon as the service was over, you stood up, attempted to let go as you headed toward the reception. But I held your hand fast, determined to say something before you disappeared into hostess duties.

"You did great," I whispered. "That was beautiful."

Your lips spread in a tight, forced smile as you turned away.

* * *

><p>Ruby managed to eat her cookies with only one chocolate smudge on her dress and a streak of chocolate on her cheek. I licked my thumb and was wiping off her face when Caleb came up, hovering next to me, his wordless request for closeness palpable. I was about to stand up and give him my attention when a man came to stand next to us.<p>

"Ruby, do you need more cookies?" Carlos asked, a grin sneaking through his question. "It looks like you didn't get enough."

Ruby glanced at me before sighing. "Mom-ny says I can only have three."

Despite her melodramatic response, I was proud of her for telling the truth. She isn't always truthful, and I'm proud every time she struggles with doing the right thing and comes out victorious.

"I love when you use true words, Ruby," I said, tossing her a smile. "True words make me feel good inside. Do they make you feel good inside?"

Ruby glanced at Carlos and then at me before giving an inauthentic nod, unaccompanied by an equally inauthentic smile.

It sucks to tell the truth sometimes.

Caleb drew my arm up and put his hand in mine.

"Hey, Mom-ny?" he asked, timid.

"What, baby?" I asked, turning towards him. Sometimes he's so quiet, even I'm guilty of overlooking him for his loud little sister.

"'Wello is married to 'Wella, right?"

I nodded. "'Wello and 'Wella loved each other very much."

Caleb contemplated this.

"'Wella is Mama's mama, right?"

I nodded again.

"Mama only has one mama, right?"

I nodded.

"And 'Wello is Mama's dad?"

"That's right."

Caleb pursed his lips, deep in thought.

"And Gramma and Grampa are your mom and dad, right?"

I nodded again, unsure of where this was leading.

"Why don't I have a dad?"

I froze, painfully aware of Carlos' presence.

I knew this conversation was coming at some point and part of me was surprised Caleb hadn't asked earlier. He's seven and most of his friends have a mom and a dad, even if they're separated. Given how perceptive he is, he probably noticed our family is different when he was two. But he's never asked about it. You've taken care to stress that Elinor and Danielle have a family like ours, and were relieved Caleb never indicated he was curious about having two moms.

We decided before we started trying to conceive that our donor's identity would be a secret. We agreed we didn't want to complicate the tense dynamic with your parents. But we knew it wasn't about your parents - it was about your mom. You didn't want her to know that Carlos was Caleb's donor because you didn't want to give her any ammunition in her crusade to prove you are not Caleb's mom.

You are _every_ bit Caleb's mom. Some days I feel you're a better mom than me. Your patience with him as you sit at the kitchen table doing homework every night, celebrating every word he gets right and every assignment he completes, has changed his life. He has renewed confidence thanks to your tireless advocacy and commitment to his education. There is no one in the world that has a right to deny that you are his mother.

Thinking about how hard you work for our family made it easer to answer Caleb's question.

"Because you have two moms," I said hurriedly. "Lucky you!"

Thankfully, Carlos slunk away from the conversation, saying something about refilling drinks and refreshing the cookie plate.

But that didn't satisfy Caleb's curiosity. He pointed to one of his cousins, a ten-year-old boy who was play-tackling one of his friends in the corner while his mother, your mom's niece, looked on with an expression of amusement.

"Esteban says that all babies have to have a mom and a dad. Is that true?"

If there was a worse time for Caleb to get curious about his biological origins, I couldn't think of one. Given my constant reminders to Ruby that honesty is important and the fact that I teach reproductive health, I didn't want to lie to Caleb. So I gave him an age-appropriate summary.

"Well," I stalled. "All babies need part of a man and part of a woman make their body. But that's doesn't mean everyone has a mom and a dad. Zoe doesn't have a dad, and your friend Macy lives with her grandpa. Lots of babies are born in a grownup's heart, because the only thing that matters is how much families love each other. You know you were born in Mama's heart and Ruby was born in my heart."

"So I don't have a dad?" Caleb clarified.

"No, sweetie."

Caleb seemed confused, or at least deep in thought. His shoulders slumped, as if he felt guilty for his natural curiosity. "But... who helped make my body so I could be born in Mama's heart?"

I know telling Caleb the truth won't change his relationship with you or with Carlos. If there is anyone in the world that understands the role love plays in making a family, it's Caleb. But I also couldn't ignore the agreement I'd made with you, even if the reason for that agreement was now on her way to be cremated.

I paused for a minute, stroking Caleb's cheek and thinking, strangely enough, how much he looks like you.

"Someone very generous who wanted to help me and Mama have a family."

"Who helped make _me_?" Ruby demanded loudly. "Do _I_ have a dad?"

A few heads turned towards us, startled by Ruby's emphatic demand.

"Is it Santa Claus?" Ruby asked, squinting at me as if trying to make sure I told her the truth.

The truth about Ruby's conception is easier; we used an anonymous donor. But given that you are always talking about _donors_ at the dinner table in relation to your work, perhaps that explanation is complicated as well.

"No, Roo. We'll talk about it later," I hushed. "Go see if Mama wants a glass of water."

Ruby trotted off, selecting a pre-filled cup of white wine from the refreshment table and walking with it carefully in both hands to where you stood with Danielle. I was amused that Ruby knew without knowing that you would prefer wine over water and relieved she had taken the distraction bait.

I turned back to Caleb. "Caleb, I want to answer all your questions, but now isn't a good time. Will you remember them so we can talk about it another day?"

Caleb nodded. "Do you want some water, too?"

I love that our boy is so attuned to others.

"That would be wonderful, Caleb."

For a moment I stood alone, surveying the reception guests. Some people wore traditional black, but others were in normal professional attire. Elinor was talking to your aunt, holding a cup of wine and a small plate of fruit in her hands. Danielle was hovering over Eliza, who is thirteen now and clearly would have rather been anywhere but the funeral parlor. Your dad stood talking to Carlos, looking handsome in his navy suit, his placidness tinged with mourning. I couldn't imagine all the hurt that lay under his calm exterior: how many times had he cried himself to sleep in the past months? How many times had he felt overwhelmed by the empty coffee pot that greeted him in the morning? The cold bed beside him? The microwave dinners he made for himself? The thought of such a sweet, gentle man in that much pain made my throat feel tight.

Seconds after Caleb handed me a cup of water, I heard our daughter's shrill voice cut through the murmuring around me.

"Mama, do I have a dad?"

The room felt like it plummeted into silence as your head jerked up to look at me. You were so startled, it looked like a glare.

You quickly composed yourself as the noise in the room picked back up. You looked down at Ruby and I saw you shake your head and mouth the words, _No, Roo_.

I made a beeline for you just in time to hear Ruby say, "But Mom-ny said two girls can't make a baby."

I grasped her by the shoulders, directing her towards the snacks. "Roo, you can have another cookie if you let Mama talk to the party guests until we go home."

Ruby flounced toward the cookies in delight.

I turned back to you and saw your eyes narrow. "What the _hell_, Britt," you hissed. "Just because things are _different_ now doesn't mean you can tell them."

"I didn't!" I said, trying to keep my voice to a whisper. "Caleb knew!"

"Knew _what_?"

"He knew that-" I stopped. Caleb hadn't known anything. In my crusade to encourage honesty, I had given him more information than I should have. "Esteban said something about babies coming from a mom and a dad."

You sucked in air through your nose. I prepared for a whispered attack, but instead you stiffened and tightened your grasp on your glass of wine.

"Did you tell him the truth?" you asked, nodding towards Carlos in bitter accusation.

I was hurt you thought I would do that without asking you.

"Of course not. I told him he was born in your heart."

You studied my face to make sure I was telling the truth. Had I become so untrustworthy that you couldn't take my words at face value? After a moment you bobbed your head and turned away from me, lifting your wine glass to your lips. "Good."

I stood next to you, wanting to say something that would assure you I hadn't disregarded our agreement. But the truth was I had. Not entirely: I hadn't said anything about Carlos or Donor C1520. But I had told our children that someone aside from you and I had helped bring about their existence. In light of the occasion, I realized how stupid that decision had been. If there was one thing that could drive you farther away than you already are, I had just done it.

You drained your glass and, without making eye contact, handed it to me. "Would you get me another?" Your words were tinged with warning.

After I poured you a glass of chardonnay, you meandered toward your cousin Rosa and her daughter Alexis. You put on a grand show, smiling at her, and telling her how big she'd gotten since you last saw her. I felt an unbearable heaviness press down on me that had nothing to do with the fact that we were in a funeral parlor. I watched you as you drifted about the room, animated and pleasant and, in some instances, genuinely enjoying conversations.

One of the benefits of being married is that we don't have to have fake conversations. But one of the problems is that sometimes we don't talk at all.

I was aware of someone standing next to me, but I was surprised when my mom wrapped me in her arms, drawing me into a demonstrative hug. She has a flair for the dramatic, especially when it comes to showing affection. Normally I only stay in her arms long enough that I won't hurt her feelings, but it had been a long time since I'd felt warmth from another adult, so I let her hold me. For a brief moment, I closed my eyes and shrank back to when I was six years old and too shy to go into my classroom alone. I sighed and nestled my cheek against her shoulder.

She swept my hair over my shoulder and stroked it down my back. I've been too busy to get it cut lately, so it's getting long and splitting at the ends. But it felt smooth under her weathered, steady palm. She drew in a breath I hoped was meant for a dramatic sigh, but instead she opened her mouth and murmured, "She'll find her way back to you, baby girl. You two always do."

I was so angry at her for saying that. How _dare_ she comment on our marriage? How _dare_ she notice how far we'd drifted? How _dare_ she say something in public, at your mom's _funeral_, no less? She was trying to create drama and I hated her for it.

I was furious, but without warning, I burst into tears. Why was my mother here holding me when yours wasn't? Why does she have more hope than I do for our marriage? How could I forget how lucky I am to have a mother who shows me she loves me? It was unfair and I didn't deserve it. I wanted to shove her away.

And I realized with a painful jolt that you felt the same way about me. For months I'd been holding you and murmuring things you didn't want to hear. I was smothering you in an effort to feel better about myself, when all I had to do was give you space. I felt stupid. Working in hospice, wasn't I supposed to be an expert on grief? Wasn't I supposed to know this process? But I'm not and I don't. The only thing I've ever lost was myself, and I was lucky enough to get that - and you - back. Aside from my cat dying when we were in our early twenties, I have no experience of personal loss.

So until I understand, I'll let you be as far away as you need to be. I'll still be here when you're ready, Santana.

I pulled back and looked at my mom as I wiped my face. I've spent so much time resenting her for being who she is. She's loud and demonstrative and thinks she's closer to people than she is. She's not a good listener and she gets excited easily. But those aren't good reasons to resent her. She's loved me my whole life, no matter how loud or quiet or sensitive or tough I am. She's never told me I should be anything other than myself. I've only got one mom, and I've spent years taking her for granted. I felt a rush of guilt at that realization. How can I even think about withholding love from the first person who ever loved me?

I realized I needed to take the advice you'd given in your eulogy and start repairing things with her while I still had time. I don't know how much time I have and realizing that made me cry even more.

My mom wiped my cheek and gave me a concerned frown that asked, _what's wrong, baby girl?_

I leaned back into her arms, my words squeaking and muffled by my tears and her shoulder. "I'm sorry, mom."

"Sorry for what?" she asked, her words perkier than befit the question.

I took a deep breath to dam my tears, pulling back, wiping my eyes and shaking my head. "Nothing," I swallowed. "We should have lunch together soon or something."

My mom gave me a soft smile that let me know she understood how guilty I felt. That smile was trying to tell me it was okay. She patted my shoulder. "I'd love that."

* * *

><p>The two hour drive home from the funeral passed quickly as we listened to the audiobook of Lemony Snickett's<em> A Series of Unfortunate Events<em>, our family's current favorite. You were still stiff, but there was a sense of relief about you that told me you'd sleep better now that all your formal obligations were taken care of. I was right; after dinner you suggested we play a game before the kids went to bed. That was a good sign.

Family game night was Danielle's suggestion a year ago when I confided in her that I felt we didn't spend enough time having _fun_ as a family. I went out and bought some games and was delighted to discover it was exactly what I wanted. It works better than a glass of wine to help me unwind at the end of the day, and it makes me feel like a good mom. We have a rule that we don't take calls or check our phones during game time because it's _family time_ and nothing is more important. Caleb and Ruby play games alone too sometimes, and Caleb is patient when Ruby tries to cheat. Ever the cleverer mom, you once overtly cheated back while playing _Candyland_ with her, and she hasn't cheated since.

Ruby dictated that tonight we play the children's edition of _Pictionary_. It's her favorite game, and since no one else was especially opinionated, we agreed. We all take turns helping Ruby read the word on the card she selects while the rest of us play the traditional way. Ruby's developing fine motor skills make it difficult to guess what she's trying to draw, often resulting in her yelling, _Don't you have eyes? It's a hedgehog!_ or something equally amusing, given that her drawings look like someone had a seizure while holding a pencil.

Since we heard of your mom's diagnosis, the only times I've seen you laugh are during family game night. Caleb makes you laugh the hardest; his drawings are creative and he has a sense of irony beyond his age. Sometimes I feel like you two are having entire conversations without words. I love watching you two together. One time Simon kept swatting cards off the table and Caleb glanced at you before declaring only creatures with thumbs could play. Ruby wasn't pleased with Caleb's underhanded exile of Simon, but she was quickly distracted by her overwhelming curiosity about why Simon didn't have thumbs.

Twenty minutes into the game, I could feel you unwinding in a way you hadn't in a long time. It was as if you had drunk a whole bottle of wine but maintained your sharp mind. Your back was against the couch, one leg drawn to your chest and the other extended under the table, tapping Caleb's knee in a gesture of affection. You had one arm slung around Ruby, the other hand stroking an uncharacteristically sleepy Simon where he lay curled next to you, the tip of his tail wavering with each stroke. You looked almost as relaxed as you look after we have sex. Back when we used to do that.

On her turn, Ruby drew a monkey that she adorned with wings because she was still wearing her _Wizard of Oz_ sparkle shoes. On your turn, you drew a stick figure of a woman pointing to a box with a long stick and were disappointed when no one guessed "teacher." I drew a line of zigzags and no sooner had a drawn half of a gnome when Caleb guessed "lawn!" I smiled and passed the box of cards to him.

Caleb drew a card and I felt him sink into the carpet a few inches. He looked at you, then back to the card, then at me.

You tilted your head and asked, "Do you need help with the word?"

Caleb looked at the card and shook his head. "I don't want to do this one," he mumbled.

"You know the rules, Caleb," you said with a hint of mockery. Caleb is always the one to tell Ruby she can't skip cards she doesn't like.

"I don't want to do it," he repeated.

I grew nervous. Caleb wouldn't refuse to draw what was on the card for no reason. I leaned down to look over his shoulder, but he snapped the card against his chest.

"It's spelled wrong!" he said, desperate. "I don't know how to draw it."

I put my hand on Caleb's back and reached for the card. He looked at me, pleading, as I pried the card from his fingers and read it.

The word was _Dad_.

Sometimes Caleb's sensitivity to people around him breaks my heart.

I patted his back and set the card on the corner of the table closest to me. "You don't have to do that one," I said. "Pick another."

You frowned and before I could stop you, leaned forward and picked up the card. As soon as you read it, you stiffened. Before Caleb could draw another word, you zipped yourself back into your armor. "Ruby, it's time for bed," you said.

"But it's almost my turn!" Ruby protested.

"You'll get a turn next time," you said, already standing up. "Go brush your teeth."

Caleb looked at me as if to ask if he'd done something wrong. I gave him an apologetic smile and patted his back again as I murmured, "It's getting late. Go brush your teeth, sweetie."

As you shepherded a still-protesting Ruby towards the stairs, I saw you tear the card in half and shove it in your back pocket.

After the kids were brushed and flossed and in their pajamas, I read Ruby a story while you read to Caleb. We switch off most nights, and sometimes we all pile onto our bed for one big goodnight story, but I knew tonight wouldn't be one of those nights. I could hear your voice murmuring a chapter of _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ to Caleb across the hall as I read _Angelina Ballerina_ to Ruby. She insisted on reading another book afterwards because she could still hear you reading to Caleb, so I read another.

When we had just a few pages left, I saw you hovering in the door, waiting until we were done to give our daughter goodnight kisses. I finished the book and slid it onto the carpet, turning to give Ruby a kiss on the cheek. I got up, passing you on my way into the hall. But before I could leave, Ruby called after me.

"Mom-ny?"

Ruby's voice was small and scared in the dark.

"Are you gonna die too?"

I froze with my hand on the doorknob, shocked. I didn't think Ruby had understood death when I explained it earlier.

I stepped back, closing the door as I walked toward you in the dark, and sat on the edge of her bed. Even though I could only make out your shadow, I could see you were frozen where you stood beside her bed. I was frozen too. I didn't want to lie; of course I'll die someday. But I didn't want to terrify Ruby. I didn't want her to have nightmares or start to panic every time one of us is late to pick her up from school or ballet or tae kwon do. So I told her the softest version of the truth.

"One day I will," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "But not for a long time. We have lots of things we need to do first."

I saw you shiver.

"Like what?" Ruby asked.

"We have to go on a trip to New Haven to pick apples like Mama and I did in college. We have to make cards for Mama on her birthday every year until her hair turns gray and silver like Gramma's. We have to keep practicing on the bike so we can take off your training wheels. And we have to wait for your hair to grow long like Mama's so you can have matching braids in the summertime. And even after we do all those things, there will still be more things we need to do."

I was trying not to shake, imagining if something happened to either one of us before all the things I had promised Ruby could be completed. I knew I had just told Ruby something that might not be true. But I needed to soothe her, and by extension, myself.

But my plan backfired. Before I could stop it, the image of your mother's funeral appeared in my head, only this time, Ruby and Caleb were a few years older and it wasn't your mother who had died.

Ruby seemed satisfied with my answer, but she still had questions.

"Can I still see you after you die?"

I saw your hands clench and flex at your sides and I felt tears stinging. I was thankful the room was dark so Ruby wouldn't see my face scrunch as I fought to keep the tears at bay.

"No, but you can talk to me whenever you have something to say or a question to ask, and I'll hear."

Ruby paused for only a moment. "Will you answer back?"

"Not out loud," I choked. It was getting harder to cry silently. "But I'll answer in some way."

"Okay," said Ruby.

"Don't worry, sweetie, we're not going anywhere for a long time," I said, my voice shaking as I patted Ruby's legs under the blankets.

I hoped beyond hope that I was telling the truth.

"Okay. Goodnight," Ruby said, turning onto her side.

I was relieved she didn't have any more questions. You stood beside her, shaking, and unbearably heavy. Finally you darted forward, kissing her cheek before turning to go. When you reached the door, Ruby's small voice called out again.

"You should try talking to 'Wella Lopez, Mama. I bet she'll answer too."

You stepped into the hall while I kissed Ruby on the forehead, whispering _Sweet dreams_ and _Stay in bed, Roo_ before I followed you out and shut the door.

You were leaning against the wall next to the door, hand against your chest as if it would stop the aching if you pressed hard enough. Your head dropped as you were racked with choking sobs. I reached out for you, but you shook your head and pointed to Caleb's room, where I knew he was waiting for my goodnight kiss. Torn, I quickly tiptoed into his room. It would only take a few seconds to say goodnight to him and then I could give you my full attention. He was already half asleep when I tucked his blankets around him and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

When I caught up with you in our bedroom, you had fallen onto the bed and curled into a ball. I curled around you, wrapping my arm over your shoulders and squeezing. You grasped my hand as you cried and cried, and then cried harder, trusting me to hold you together for the first time in months. I was afraid you would shatter if I wasn't there, so I held you as tight as I could. We lay like that for at least ten minutes before you turned toward me, an expression of panic on your face.

"Britt, how much more time do we have together?" Your voice was so shaky and hoarse I almost couldn't understand you. "How many kisses do we have left?" you demanded. "How _many_?"

You grabbed my head and crashed our lips together, frantic and hard against my mouth.

"I can't lose you!" you sobbed, squeezing me to you so hard I could almost feel the overwhelming ache in your chest. "I can't lose you," you echoed, gasping for air. "I can't…"

I pressed into you, trying to absorb you as I ran my hand over your back. "Shh… Sweetheart, we have lots more kisses."

You wailed and pulled back, tugging at my shirt as you tried to lift it over my head.

"I need you," you gasped. "I want to make love to you all night. We should be making love _every_ night," you sobbed. As you spoke I was jostled by your frantic undressing. "And every morning, and every other chance we get. I love you so much, when you die, I want to die too."

Your frantic demand for intimacy was jarring after so many months without it. This was what I wanted, wasn't it? To find that desperate, unquenchable connection we'd once shared? But I didn't want it like this. I didn't want you to feel reckless and frazzled and out of control. I didn't want you to wail against me as you shattered and lay in shards. I stilled your hands, placing them over my heart.

"Sweetheart, look at me," I urged, gripping your wrists as you frantically tried to undress me.

You kept trying to pull my clothes off, murmuring indecipherable fragments between sloppy, hard kisses.

"Sweetie, stop."

I gripped your wrists tighter, alarmed at your deafness.

"Santana!" I cried.

You stopped struggling and looked at me with desperate, pleading eyes.

I paused for a moment, capturing your gaze so you could see the gentleness I wished for you. "Having sex right now won't stop you from hurting," I whispered.

You froze, your chin and tears quivering as you looked into my eyes.

"I… I know," you cried, melting against me. Your shoulders slumped as you sobbed for a moment, trying not to wail loud enough to disturb Ruby and Caleb.

"I'm here, sweetie," I assured. "Just tell me what you need."

You took several raspy breaths before you gasped, "I have no fucking idea."

"That's okay."

You took several more breaths before I felt you tensing again.

"I just… I don't wanna feel anymore! My heart hearts and my brain hurts and I just-_ want a break_!" you choked, shaking against me.

I held you as you shuddered, nuzzling your hair with my chin. "Okay," I murmured. "Take a break."

"I can't!" you coughed into my shirt. "I have to finish writing a grant proposal that will fund an expansion of our counseling program and prep for a board meeting. In the morning I have to get up and take Ruby and Caleb to school, and then I have to take Simon to be neutered, and then I have to go to work and on my way home I have to do the grocery shopping… and then... I'm forgetting something!"

Reciting your list got you so worked up. It hurt to imagine you trying to go through the day you had just described, only allowing yourself to cry when you were alone in the car.

"That's way too much," I declared.

"I don't have a choice, Britt!"

Holding you right now, despite how much pain you were feeling, was soothing to me. I hadn't felt you open yourself up like this in a very, very long time. I felt trusted and important and like a good wife again. I wanted to keep that feeling as long as I could.

"You need a day off. For your health."

The thought of you breaking down for a whole day made me feel both helpless and relieved. I know you needed to cry, but I also know how hard it is to watch.

You paused to contemplate that for a moment, wheezing in some breaths. "But who's gonna take the kids… and poor little Simon- and the groceries-"

"I'll make sure everything gets taken care of."

"But you have to go to work," you protested.

"I'm taking tomorrow off."

"Since when?"

"Since now."

You were quiet for a minute. "Thank you," you sniffled. You let out a pained exhale and closed your eyes. "Eliza's hair," you sighed. "I promised I'd do her hair for her best friend's Bat Mitzvah."

"I'll take care of it. You get a whole day to rest and cry. More, if you need."

Your breathing steadied for a moment. "I know this sounds fucked up… but that sounds _really good right now_." The last words squeaked out, forced from your chest as you shuddered for a minute. You tried to steady your breath and use your strong voice. You sounded so brave. "I'm too tired."

"You never have to be okay when you're not. Especially with me."

You kept nodding, tears squeezing between your lashes. "I wish you could be with me tomorrow," you choked.

"I can arrange that."

"You can't be in two places at once," you frowned, eyes still closed.

"My mom can take the kids to school and take care of Simon. I'll find a stylist for Eliza's hair and we can have the groceries delivered. I don't have to leave the house if you need me here." I tucked your hair behind your ear. "Is that what you need?" I murmured.

You paused for a moment before exhaling. "I need you more than I've ever needed you."

It's funny how tragedy makes us cut right to the chase. Years ago, you would have never said something like that. I know you feel naked, but seeing you bared is heartbreaking and beautiful.

"You have me."

I held you for a few more minutes before getting up to pull the duvet out from under you and tuck it around you. I turned out the lights and slipped into bed behind you, my arm firm around your waist.

I thought you were asleep when I heard you whisper.

"Britt?"

"Hm."

"I love you."

It was the saddest 'I love you,' I have ever heard.

I squeezed you impossibly closer.

"I love you, too."


	24. Lady M

**A/N: Thanks for being patient! I'm excited for this chapter for many reasons.**

**After this chapter there will be a bit of a pause while I finish writing the story. When I publish the next chapter, the completed story will be available for purchase as a hard copy and an eBook. The remaining chapters will be published on here spaced out between Dec. 1 and Jan. 5.**

**Last week I published a one-shot for the Brittana U Monster Fic Mash project on Tumblr. Check it out, and be sure to read terriblemuriel's companion piece. They are so much better together.**

**Thanks to my #1 beta for life, Muriel, and to her sister wives, Jane, Frogs, and JJ. It takes a village. In my case, a village of beautiful, smart, generous women.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 24 - Lady M<strong>

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><p>The next morning I woke up earlier than usual. I called in sick to work and sent a text to my mom, asking her if she could get the kids to school and take Simon to the vet. Her reply came not a minute later, an exuberant confirmation with too many exclamation points.<p>

I woke Caleb and Ruby quietly, telling them we were playing the Keep Quiet game. They dressed sleepily, teetering down the stairs to the kitchen where I served toast and juice and strawberries for breakfast while I packed peanut butter and honey sandwiches for their lunches, trying not to drip stickiness on the counter. Caleb remembered his homework binder and Ruby put her shoes on the correct feet. We found Simon and gave him extra cuddles before we tricked him into his crate with treats and a toy. I reminded the kids that Simon would be very sleepy after his trip to the doctor and we wouldn't be able to play with him for a few days. I told Ruby to get her glitter pens ready so we could decorate his magic lampshade when he got home. Ruby didn't question the lampshade, only squealed in delight at the opportunity to adorn our cat with sparkles.

My mom arrived a few minutes late and whisked our little ones off, leaving me alone in the hallway in peaceful silence.

So far, everything about our day off was working.

I knew you had a lot you were supposed to do today and I was determined to make you feel as unburdened as possible. But standing in our silent living room alone at seven in the morning was startling. It had been years since that had happened. I couldn't decide if I liked it.

I thought about making breakfast for you, but I didn't know how long you'd sleep. So I went into the kids' rooms and started organizing things, making piles of laundry and getting rid of broken and unused toys. I got lost in it, because when my phone rang in the other room - I dashed in to get it so it wouldn't wake you - it was already ten o'clock. It was the vet calling to say Simon's surgery had gone well and he would be ready for pickup in a few hours.

The early fall sun was streaming through the windows of the east side of our house as I crept downstairs. Ruby's fifth birthday party was a few days away, and I figured I would pack the goodie bags and order her cake. I had planned to bake a cake myself, but since I was encouraging you to simplify your life, I decided to take my own advice. Besides, I had already purchased a vial of edible glitter. Ruby wouldn't care about the inside of the cake.

When I was done ordering the cake, I looked at the clock – it was already ten thirty. I don't think you've slept that late since before Caleb was born. The house was eerily quiet.

"Britt?" you croaked, right on cue.

"Yeah?" I said, trotting up the stairs and into the bedroom. "I was just getting stuff ready for Ruby's birthday."

"Oh… okay. Are the kids at school?"

"Uh huh."

"Did Caleb remember his folder?"

"Yep."

"And Simon?"

"My mom will be back with him around two. The vet called a little while ago and said he's doing great."

"Oh… okay. What about-"

"Sweetie," I said with sad smile. "Take the day off."

You sat up and looked around, unnerved and unsure what to do.

"I feel like I'm hungover," you grumbled.

"It's a cry-over. When you cry so hard your head hurts the next day."

You sighed and nodded.

"Breakfast?" I offered.

You ran your hands through your hair and kept nodding.

As I turned to go, you called after me. "Wait."

I looked back at you.

You opened your mouth, eyes darting about the room. You didn't say anything, but I saw your hand drift an inch toward my side of the bed. I thought maybe you were asking to be close. You hadn't asked that in a long time. Maybe you forgot the words.

I walked toward you and sat on the edge of the bed, hoisting my legs up and lying back, arms open to you. You didn't meet my eyes, but settled into the crook of my shoulder, head heavy and warm. I stroked your hair, tangled from sleep. I felt your breath damp on my skin.

I would have been content to lie there with you all day.

I felt your throat pulse against my shoulder as you swallowed. "Sorry I got all crazy last night," you mumbled.

I ran my hand over your back. "You weren't crazy."

You sighed, snuggling into me. After a long, calm silence, you tilted your head up. You still looked sleepy.

"How are you doing?" you asked.

"I'm good," I hummed. And for the first time in a long time, I meant it.

"Good."

After a few more moments of silence, you pressed your face up to kiss me, first on the chin, then on the mouth. Your lips rested there for a moment before your lower lip tucked between mine, slipping together in the beginnings of a deep, slow kiss. You curled your shoulders further into me, legs rustling in the sheets.

After a moment you pulled back and looked at me with a sheepish smile. "Hi," you murmured.

I smiled back. "Hi."

There were a million things we could have said, but we just smiled at each other. It felt like the first time in months.

Ten years ago I never would have dreamed we would be here. We were young and dreamed a million dreams about our future every day. Caleb and Ruby were secret wishes we hadn't shared with each other yet. Getting married wasn't even a possibility. But we knew we wanted to be in each others' arms like this every morning for the next hundred years. Sometimes I think we forget that.

As if you were reading my thoughts, you pressed your lips back into me. You were more determined and eager, sliding your body and lips over me. Your hands curled into my hair and held me against you, closer and more intimate than we've been in months. The only thing I could think was _Oh, there you are. There's my wife. I love you and I love this_.

Your legs slid through the sheets, untangling as you rolled further on top of me, enveloping me. Beneath you, I started to bloom. I kept my hands soft on your back, not wanting to push you past wherever you wanted to go. I was happy just to be held.

You were transformed from the frantic, tortured woman you'd been the night before. Now you were gentle and slow and warm, humming against me, your hands mapping places not yet forgotten. Before slipping your hand under my shirt, you whispered, "Is this okay?" I smiled at you and almost giggled, giddy under your caress. I hadn't finished nodding when you pressed your lips into mine again.

You surged a bit as you prepared to end the longest dry spell in our marriage. I knew you were turned on because you were letting out little hums and rocking into me. But you were tensing in a way that let me know you were apprehensive. You bunched my shirt up over my breasts and slid your hand down my pants. You were determined, but something shuttered up inside you. You were thinking too much, rushing towards something in the distance.

It felt good to be touched, but there was something mechanical and stiff about your movements. You kept your face buried next to my head or against my chest, immersing yourself so you wouldn't have to look at me. Your skin against mine is always soothing and your mouth on my neck and breasts feels hot and exciting, but there was very little of _you_ pressed against me. You worked me up with practiced hands before sliding your fingers inside me, resting your mouth against my ear so I could hear your raspy breathing, amplified as you drew me out. The rote motions of your fingers inside me felt like disconnected versions of my own as you strained and dampened with exertion. I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined you were whispering dirty things in my ear, pushing me to finish.

When I did, your breathing settled against my neck. You were relieved. You held me there for a minute, making sure I collected myself before you mobilized. With a chaste kiss, you whispered "there," as if everything had been fixed. I was about to undress you, but without another word, you rolled over and slid your legs off the bed, standing and collecting your hair in a messy bun.

"I'll make breakfast," you offered.

"It's okay," I mumbled, reaching after you. "I'll make it in a minute."

You turned and gave me a tight smile. "I'm already up," you shrugged. "Besides, you think crepes are better when I make them anyway." You winked and straightened your shirt, walking out of the bedroom.

I sighed and stared at the ceiling. I thought today was going to be different for us.

I pulled myself out of bed and took a quick shower, putting on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. When I got downstairs, you were already sitting at the table eating with your laptop open next to you, reading the New York Times. I sat down and picked up my fork, thanking you for cooking and asking if there was anything interesting in the news. You gave me short, polite answers.

I was frustrated. I know I said today was about taking care of yourself, but I assumed we'd spend time together. You said you needed me, remember? More than you ever had before? I wasn't feeling needed. Or even wanted.

I tried to make myself useful. "Is there anything you need done?" I asked. You're very task-oriented, so I was trying to speak your language.

You scrunched up your mouth, thinking. "If you could take care of the groceries, that'd be great. I'm just going to answer some emails and call in to the board meeting this afternoon."

Your new job is everything I hoped it would be. It utilizes all your strengths and challenges you more than working for Denton ever did. You're passionate about it and you love your coworkers. You are fierce and fearless playing nice with donors and sponsors and drafting press releases and giving radio interviews and who knows what else. As my mom would say, _Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice, for they shall have their fill. _I am so impressed with how quickly your flame ignited in this job. It reminds me of all the reasons I fell in love with you.

But your new job is also everything I feared it would be. Your hours have gotten even worse, and since you actually care about the work you're doing, you don't let it rest. When we leave the kids with my parents or Hayley and go out to dinner, sometimes you get quiet or your eyes glaze over. When I ask where you went, you admit that you're nervous about a meeting with a corporate partner or the board president. Other than reassuring you that you're doing a fantastic job and telling you I believe in you, I don't know what to say. Your work is a world I know nothing about. You explain some things to me, but I can't fathom most of what you do on a daily basis.

"Anything interesting happening at the board meeting today?"

You pursed your lips quickly, still perusing the _Times_ as you said, "The end-of-year fundraising push is starting, so they want to make sure we're reaching out to all the corporate partners at least once before Christmas."

"That's a lot," I said. I know you're strong, but I also know you're fragile, if last night was any indication. "Anything I can do to help?" I offered again.

You glanced up at me and gave me a rushed smile. "Just groceries."

I was disappointed, but at the same time, I don't know how to do ninety percent of the things you do at your job. On a practical level, it made sense. I could handle groceries. "Okay," I said. "Do you have a list?"

You nodded, shifting your laptop and closing it. "It's on my phone."

I smiled and nodded. "Cool."

You got up and went into the office, setting your computer back down and balancing yourself on the yoga ball that serves as a chair. Seeing you were already plugged in and cut off from me, I picked up your phone from the kitchen counter. Unlocking it, I saw an unread text message from a contact labelled "M":

_im sorry :(_

I looked above the message to see what _M_ was replying to, and saw there was nothing there. You must have deleted it.

It was a little strange, but I didn't want to overthink it. I found the grocery list, opened my own laptop, and ordered the groceries to be delivered, just like I'd suggested the night before. But after I entered our credit card information, I realized it was silly for me to pay the delivery fee. The reason I'd suggested ordering groceries online was so I could stay home with you and support you. But you didn't want my support right now. I should have gone to the store.

The rest of the day I took care of things around the house and in the garden. It felt good to be productive. When I think about the all the things I did in the space of a few kid-free hours, I understand why crossing things off your to-do list calms you down. I made you a BLT for lunch. I got sleepy and decided to take a nap.

I woke up to you placing a drugged, miserable kitten on the bed beside me. Simon let out a few pitiful mews and I stroked his back, murmuring to him that he would be okay in a few days.

"I don't think we should let the kids handle him today," you said, pouting at our cat. "He looks so sad."

I nodded, still sleepy, my face mashed against the pillow. "Are you feeling sad today?"

You shook your head. "I think I got it out last night."

I nodded, but watched your face to see if you really believed that. There was no way you had processed your mom's death in one night of crying. I wish it were possible. But I know you have to face the reality that you will never have your mom's approval. The fact that she loved Ruby so much and came to tolerate me and Caleb is a small consolation, but there is no possibility for resolution or repair. That isn't something _anyone_ gets over. It just sits inside, heavy and eventually familiar. At least that's what my mom told me when she was talking about her mom's death.

Channeling my mom's warmth and wisdom, I stroked your hand as you petted Simon.

"Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

You gave me a funny little gasping laugh. "I'm fine, Britt," you murmured. "Just tired and stressed."

I let the quiet soak into us more, watching as you tried to comfort baby Simon. For a moment you lost yourself, surrendering to your sympathy for our kitten. But when Simon let out a drugged, pitiful sigh, you snapped back to attention.

"I have to call in to the board meeting now. You okay keeping Simon company?"

I nodded into the pillow, carefully snuggling Simon against me.

"I never thanked you for him," I said, studying how soft his fur was under my hand.

You grinned, pleased with yourself.

"I know he was technically from your mom, but you were in on it, so... thanks," I said, giving you a bashful smile.

I saw you shutter up again at the mention of your mom. I shouldn't have done that.

You darted forward and kissed my cheek. "You're welcome," you said, getting up and heading into your office.

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><p>That weekend was Ruby's birthday party. I probably invited too many people. But she's so willful and opinionated, she can be difficult for other children to get along with, so I was playing it safe by inviting every child she'd ever met. Our house was full to bursting with people.<p>

As we passed each other in the kitchen between sweeps to pick up dirty dishes and refill drinks, you muttered, "I wonder how many of these parents are here just to see if we're weird."

I shrugged and whispered back, "Don't worry, I hid the sex swing and your collection of shrunken heads behind the Wiccan altar in the closet."

Keeping a straight face as you pulled a gallon of apple juice out of a fridge, you said, "Oh, good." You left the room, your face regaining animation as you chatted with the parents from Ruby's class.

I scraped a few plates into the trash and heard your phone buzz against the counter. I looked at it. I was from M again.

_you never have time for me anymore :( _

Before I could stop the selfish thought from forming, I mumbled, "Join the club." Curious, I flicked the screen to see what you'd said.

_Gtg Ruby's bday party is spiraling out of control_

I wouldn't have said the party was spiraling out of control, but sometimes little things are overwhelming in the middle of a busy life.

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><p>Over the next few weeks, things got worse. We talked less and less. We texted more than we talked, short messages working out logistics for who was picking up who and what we were having for dinner. You didn't cry again. You didn't talk about your mom at all. You were zipped up and quiet.<p>

Something strange started happening to me those weeks. I starting thinking about when we were younger and how much you inspired me. You still do of course, but back then I had more access to your inner fire. You didn't feel like an idea back then. I found myself remembering the highlights of our youth more often, reminding myself why I chose to marry you. I know I could never hope to find someone with more passion and genuineness than you. But it would be nice to experience those things for myself once in a while.

When Thanksgiving rolled around, I suggested we host the extended Pierce family celebration at our house. We're adults now and we're supposed to do things like host Thanksgiving, and my mom deserves a year off. You agreed it was time we did, and suggested we invite your dad, since holidays can be difficult for recent widowers.

I'd been working on getting closer to my mom, and even though it was frustrating and hard sometimes, I was glad I had decided to make the effort while I had time. She was more than happy to help me with the prep cooking for the big meal, and corralled Hayley and Julie into coming over to help one evening.

"Double, double, toil and trouble," she grinned over a pot of chicken broth on the stove. "What is it tonight, ladies? Sleep-inducing brew for Ruby? Love potion number nine for Justin?" She grinned at Hayley. "Is that what I have to do to get that fool dreamboat of yours to propose to you?"

Hayley's eyes darted around the room and she shrugged, focusing on slicing carrots in front of her

"My girls know how to pick 'em," my mom went on, shaking her head. "I swear on all things holy, if I was your age, I'd have swooped Justin or Santana up before either of you had a chance."

Julie cocked her head, curious about my mom's statement of sexual fluidity. My mom quirked her head back and said with a grin, "Don't pretend you haven't peeked at Britt's wife, Julie. Everyone has."

"Mom!" I hushed, embarrassed.

"Blessed are the truth speakers, Britt, for they shall say what everyone else is thinking."

"That's not in the bible," I grumbled, crushing a clove of garlic.

"It should be!" my mom laughed, adding chopped sweet potatoes to the soup. "You got those onions, Jules?"

Julie sidled up next to my mom by the stove, tilting her cutting board and scraping the onions into the pot with the dull edge of her knife. Before she could go back to her station on the counter, my mom cupped her chin and lowered her voice.

"Blessed are the meek, darlin', for they shall possess the land. Which is why you're the best realtor in town."

Julie grinned and reached for a potato peeler, walking over to the sink.

Next to me, I heard Hayley sniffle. I turned my head and saw her blinking as she chopped.

"Onions?" I whispered.

She shook her head and tucked her chin lower, trying to hide behind her hair as she continued slicing carrots. I watched her carefully as she tried to fight off tears for a moment longer. Finally she gave up and set down her knife, walking towards the bathroom.

My mom and Julie didn't seem to notice, engrossed in their chopping as my mom pestered Julie for details about her boyfriend. I tried to make my footsteps quiet as I set down my knife and followed Hayley.

When I got to the bathroom, the door was shut. I gave a timid knock. When Hayley didn't object, I opened the door and walked in, shutting it behind me.

She was leaning against the cabinets with her back to me, arms wrapped around herself as she shook.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She didn't answer for a minute, squeezing herself tighter as she shook. I didn't know what to say; it's hard to comfort someone when you don't know what's wrong.

"It'll be okay," I said, reaching for her shoulder. She didn't shrug me off, but she didn't lean into me either. "You can tell me." She didn't respond, so I added, "I won't tell mom if you don't want me to."

After another minute of sniffling and shaking, she let out a shaky break.

"He cheated on me," she squeaked.

My stomach dropped. She tilted her head up, looking at the wall, her face pained and pleading.

"I never thought he would. He was the first decent guy..." she trailed off, hiccuping. "I was using his computer yesterday because my hard drive crashed and I- I found a bunch of emails from some slut named Megan."

If I hadn't known what to say before, I sure didn't know what to say now. My heart clenched and I reached forward, pressing my hand against her back.

"Hayley..."

The easiest thing would have been to say that Justin doesn't deserve her and that she could do better. But the truth is that my whole family loves Justin. Of all the guys she's dated, we like him the best, and when she moved in with him a year ago, we were all excited for them. Hearing he had done something to hurt my sister was confusing because it didn't match up with the man who had come over for dinner a dozen times.

I had to highlight the possibility that it was a misunderstanding.

"Are you sure? I mean... maybe it was just spam or something?"

Hayley shook her head, certain. "He replied to her."

I was cautious, but too curious not to ask. "What'd he say?"

She sniffled, wiping her face. "I don't want to say..."

Nodding, I rubbed her back, hoping to soothe her. "Okay, you don't have to."

She exhaled, gratefully. "They met in person a few weeks ago."

I cringed. As my sister loosened, telling me everything that had been weighing on her, it was harder to comfort her. She's gone through breakups before, but she cares about Justin more than any of the previous guys. And they're living together, which makes it more complicated.

"Are you sure?"

Hayley nodded. "He had to go to Cleveland for business and they-" she hiccuped, "got a room."

I couldn't hold back anymore. I wrapped my arms around Hayley's shoulders. "Hay, I'm so sorry."

She turned into me and cried for a minute, letting go a little bit with each tear. "I don't want anyone to know," she squeaked. "I'm so embarrassed."

As I rubbed her back and made hushing noises in her ear, I was confused. Justin was the one who should be ashamed, not her. And yet she was afraid of other people finding out, because she thought she did something wrong. That realization hurt too. My beautiful, smart little sister hadn't done anything wrong.

"I knew something was weird because he didn't want to have sex these past few weeks," she sniffed. "I thought maybe he was stressed or something... But I guess he just doesn't-" she squeaked, "_find me attractive anymore_."

"Hayley, _no_," I insisted. "There's no way he doesn't find you attractive."

Hayley shook her head against me.

"You're beautiful," I cooed, kissing her forehead. "Every straight guy on the planet thinks you're attractive. He probably felt guilty."

Hayley sniffled. "You think so?"

I gave her a serious nod. "Having sex with you would bring on a ton of guilt. Of course he avoided it."

As Hayley wrapped her arms around me and cried harder, a sickening feeling slithered through me. I heard my own words echo against the cold tile of our downstairs bathroom.

_Having sex with you would bring on a ton of guilt._

I swallowed the half-thought down.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" I asked, desperate to relieve some of the awfulness in the room. "Do you want me to get rid of mom and Julie so we can watch _Dirty Dancing_ and eat pizza?" That worked the first few times Hayley got dumped. But when she was younger, things were simpler.

She swallowed and tried to even her breathing. "I don't know what I want."

I nodded. When I'm upset, I don't know what I want either. Usually my first instinct is to take a bath. I sit and let the water soak the feelings out of me, or at least bring them close enough to the surface that I can recognize them.

"How about a bath?" I asked, gesturing towards the tub. "I'll tell mom you got onion juice in your eye or something."

Hayley looked at the tub and then nodded. "That sounds good."

I gave her a squeeze before opening the cabinet to get one of our fluffiest towels out. I chose a bottle of fancy lavender bath oil and set it on the edge of the tub, smiling at her as I turned to go. Just before I opened the door, Hayley asked in a small, scared voice, "Britt, can I stay here for a little while?"

"Of course," I cooed. "You can stay here as long as you want."

"Thanks," she sniffled.

She turned on the water and I walked out, joining my mom and Julie in the kitchen where they were making up fake Bible verses. _Blessed are the men who put the toilet seat down, for they shall keep their wives..._

That night I decided to try my luck having sex with you. I was nervous. That's not good, is it? Being nervous to initiate sex with my wife? You smiled into my kiss at first, but when I slid my leg over your hips and started rocking into you, you withdrew from me.

"Britt," you whispered, "your sister's down the hall."

I shrugged, tipping my lips down to yours again. "We can be quiet," I hummed, trying to sound sexy. "We've gotten good at that."

You wriggled a bit under me. "That's different. The kids don't know what we're doing. Hayley does."

I rolled off you and faced the wall, not bothering to mask my frustrated sigh.

"Let's just get through this week, okay?" you whispered. "She's not going to be here forever."

I didn't respond as I resigned myself to falling asleep without touching you for the hundredth time in a row. Or two hundredth. I don't even bother to count.

I understand you're stressed out. I understand you're just keeping it together. But I feel like our lives have become about just _making it through_ a week or a month or a year.

It started when Caleb was a newborn. I pushed myself to just _make it through_ his breastfeeding phase. When I did, we were trying to _make it through_ until he started sleeping through the night. Once he did, I was tormented by what was happening to Julie and wanted to just _make it through_ her case and see justice prevail.

And then we had to _make it through_ your pregnancy. And then another round of breastfeeding and teething and trying to get her to sleep through the night. Caleb's anxiety. Transitioning to my new job. Then yours. Your mom's illness. Grief. And now the loss of warmth.

Sometimes I wonder what we're _making it through _for. On the worst days, I feel like we're just _making it through_ our marriage. Maybe that's the horrible feeling that's been bothering me lately.

I rolled back over, suddenly anxious and soft for you. "Hey baby?" I asked, trying to show you I wasn't angry.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we could go somewhere for a weekend? Just get away from everything and... I don't know..."

I could feel your tired smile in the dark. "I don't know when we'd have time."

"We could make time. My parents are free next weekend."

"I have to go to Cincinnati."

I frowned. You go on business trips sometimes, but usually during the week.

"For what?"

"I'm making nice with the director of the corporate social responsibility program at the WESCO branch there. I'm trying to get them to fund an expansion of DPC's trauma counseling program. I told you about that, remember?"

You had told me about the counseling program funding, but you hadn't mentioned a business trip. Especially not a weekend trip.

"When do you leave?" I asked.

"A week from Friday."

"What if I came with you?"

"We wouldn't have time to do anything fun."

I swallowed, growing more uneasy by the second. "Okay."

"We could do date night before I go, if you want."

I didn't want date night, I wanted a weekend with my wife. I wanted to feel like I had your attention for more than a few minutes. I wanted to feel attractive and sexy and loved like you used to make me feel. We've been doing date night like usual and it isn't making me feel those things.

"Could we find another weekend to go away?"

"I don't know. Let's talk about it in the morning."

We never have time to talk about things in the morning. You were placating me and it felt horrible. I wanted to sleep in the guest room, but Hayley was there. Lying in bed next to you as you settled into sleep, I felt closer to Hayley than ever.

* * *

><p>A few days later, just as I was getting home from work, I got a phone call.<p>

"May I speak to Brittany Pierce?" a male voice asked.

"Lopez-Pierce," I said. "Speaking."

"I'm calling to get a statement about the Domestic Peace Center."

"What kind of statement?"

"Are you aware that the Domestic Peace Center turns away dozens of women and children seeking services every week?"

"I'm sure they'd serve everyone if they had the funding," I said.

"I'm sure you're aware that the Domestic Peace Center serves women and children affected by domestic violence. How do you feel about the fact that the head of the organization is a lesbian?"

"Good," I deadpanned. "I'm married to her."

"So do you agree with the direction she's taking the organization?"

"Absolutely. She's doing great work." I was about to elaborate, but I realized I shouldn't be talking to a stranger about your organization without consulting you. I didn't know who this man was, or who he worked for.

"So you have no problem with her taking advantage of women and children in need?"

I bristled. "I'm sorry, who am I speaking to?"

"I'm calling from _Mission: America_."

My stomach clenched. _Mission: America_ is one of the worst anti-LGBT organizations in the country, and we have the honor of hosting them right here in Columbus. They're always picketing in the Free Speech area at Pride and harassing politicians who support gay rights. They almost stopped the marriage bill from passing and are constantly attacking GSLEN and other organizations that advocate for LGBT youth, saying that they are brainwashing teenagers into being gay.

The man continued. "What do you have to say about the fact that your wife is using funds allocated to serving abused women and children to further the homosexual agenda?"

"That's not what she's doing," I snapped. "I have nothing more to say to you."

I pressed my thumb down hard on the _End Call_ button of my phone.

I was angry and needed to talk to you, but I was also worried that you were getting harassed. Rather than call and interrupt, I texted you.

_Been getting fun phone calls from Mission: America too?_

You texted back immediately. _What did you say to them?_

It felt like an accusation. I was just checking to see if you were having a hard time with something, not confess a betrayal.

I texted back, _I just said no comment_.

_Good_. _Don't answer blocked numbers._

I stared at the text, confused. Normally I would have responded with _okay_ or _will do_. But I was tired of you pushing me away. I was tired of work and kids and grief and bills always coming before me. My hands felt cold as I typed out _We need to talk when you get home_. I hit send and closed my eyes. To my utter relief, you responded immediately. _Yeah_.

Now that we'd both admitted that something wasn't working, maybe we could start rearranging things so our marriage wasn't always last. I was determined to make sure we reprioritized our lives.

That night was typical in our house. Ruby was exhausted and grumpy after school, melting down seconds after she walked through the door, but she perked up after a snack and half an hour of enforced quiet time in her room. Caleb has always been able to self-regulate, and chose to have quiet time in his room with Legos while I made dinner too. I cooked and anxiously awaited your return. When you walked in, you brought with you an anxious bluster. I knew our conversation wasn't going to be easy, but it needed to happen sooner rather than later. Ruby yapped through dinner about a game she had made up at school that day and Caleb told me he'd built an enormous sand castle at recess. It makes me happy that, at seven and a half, he doesn't think he's too old for sandcastles. He's not, of course, but most kids try to grow up too fast these days.

After their baths, I got Ruby to sleep and then tiptoed across the hall to kiss Caleb goodnight. When I emerged, you were waiting for me in the dining room downstairs, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. Feeling out of place in my own home, I slid a chair out, studying the grain of the wood on the table as I sat next to you at the corner, bracing myself. I had promised myself that no matter what, I would be honest with you about how I felt. You're not a mind reader and maybe you didn't know I'd been feeling so neglected and sad. If that was the case, I was equally to blame for the strain between us.

"I'm glad you wanted to talk," you began. "I've been meaning to bring some things up and today was a harsh reminder."

I dared to look up at you, giving a nod.

"Things aren't great right now," you admitted.

I shook my head an inch in agreement. All my limbs felt stiff, paralyzed with fear. Why is it so hard to talk about the things we care about most? It should be easy, but it never is.

"I know our family has a million things going on. Ruby's acting out at school and you and I hardly get any time alone... My dad is going through his grief process, and we're adjusting to new jobs... all of that has really taken a toll on our marriage."

I was starting to feel relief warm my hands and feet. You understand more than you let on. I nodded solemnly, begging you to continue. Maybe you'd say all the things I was feeling and I would only have to say _Me too_.

You inhaled, bracing yourself. That was another good sign, because you do that before you do something brave.

"Right now we need to make sure everything looks solid. I'm under a lot of scrutiny because of that goddamn _Mission: America _bullshit, and people are poking around, trying to dig up dirt. If there was anything I could do to keep them away from you and the kids, I would. But just in case, everything needs to be airtight, you know?"

That wasn't what I was expecting you to say at all.

"Do you think we're in danger?" I asked, suddenly concerned. I hadn't given our physical safety, much less the kids', any thought.

You bit your lip. "I don't think so. The president of the board thinks we're okay. But I wanted to make sure you and I are on the same page. Being an out lesbian in a high profile job has its responsibilities."

"What do you mean?"

"People expect us to be a certain way."

I frowned. "What way?"

You gave a little shrug. "An example. To show that lesbians can have stable, healthy relationships and families."

I almost said _But what if we don't?_ but I bit it down. That would be too harsh.

But wasn't what you were saying equally as harsh? You were asking me to cover up any cracks in the surface, to brush our imperfections away. This was _not_ the conversation I wanted to have with you. It was the opposite. I never agreed to play the part of a politician's wife and I didn't want to give you the impression I would go along with it.

I reached out, setting my hand on top of yours to show you I meant what I was about to say in the gentlest way. "Santana, we're having problems," I pressed. "They're not just going to go away."

"Yeah, I know," you whined, pulling your hand away and setting it in your lap. "But we just have to get through until _Mission: America _drops this stupid crusade against me."

I chewed my lip, trying to decide if I wanted to disagree with you. Remembering my resolve not to cave, I took a breath.

"I'm pretty tired of _making it through_ things. I want to fix it."

You let out a short, exasperated sigh. "I know. And we _will_. But right now I don't have time for therapy."

You were shuttered up again. And worse, your voice told me that I had just been added to the list of things you had to address in the coming months.

I was puzzled that you thought I was suggesting therapy. "I wasn't suggesting therapy."

"I don't know what else to do, Britt."

I didn't know what to do either. We've had arguments and drifted towards and away from each other like tides for two decades, but we've never been in this much disrepair. We've never been this lost.

"I don't know what to do either," I admitted.

We sat in heavy, sickening silence for ten seconds before we heard Ruby singing upstairs. "Maaaa-maaaaa!"

We both sighed. For a while she was doing well going to bed, but since your mom died, she's regressed. At first we just ignored her sing-song requests for attention after she'd been put down, but she just got louder and louder until she was yelling and keeping Caleb awake for half an hour. I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do, but when she starts singing for one of us, we go in, kiss her goodnight, and remind her we're having grownup time and we'll hug her again in the morning.

We had the silent _who handles it this time?_ conversation and you got up, shoulders weighted as you went upstairs to deal with our exhausting, adorable daughter. I heard your feet creaking above me and you murmuring to Ruby, who protested for a moment before quieting as you sang _Feed the Birds_ to her. Just as you were finishing the last verse, slowing the cadence to lull her to sleep, your phone vibrated against the table in front of me, startling me.

I didn't intentionally look, but the words were right there, glaring up at me from the table.

_M: ready for this weekend? :) :) :)_

I looked away, trying not to think about it.

You finished the song and tiptoed downstairs, giving me a tired smile as you went to the kitchen and put on gloves, preparing to load the dishwasher.

The question came bubbling out of me before I realized I was speaking.

"Santana, do you still love me?"

You turned your head and shot me an appalled look. "Of course." Your frown set a heavy crease in your forehead as you turned back to the sink. "What kind of question is that..."

"Just wondering."

Years ago you would have rushed to my side and made a beautiful, grand declaration of love and commitment. But now you faced away from me, burying yourself up to your elbows in dirty dishes and suds.

The words from the screen of your phone haunted me the whole weekend you were gone. I kept myself busy, taking the kids to the park and Ruby's tae kwon doh exhibition. In sleep, the words of the text message seemed to follow me, their eerie glow mocking me. I tried to block them out. But when I woke up next to you on Monday, I didn't feel any better. I had just gotten my period and felt tender and vulnerable, but that wasn't why I felt icky. Women are too quick to write off their intuition when they have their period, chalking it up to hormones and hypersensitivity. But if I'm more in tune with myself, why would I ignore that? Who cares if I cry more easily or feel more vulnerable? Those things aren't bad. They just make most people uncomfortable.

Aside from typical monthly aches and pains, something was gnawing inside me, telling me I was being usurped. Who the hell was _M_? Why were you texting her all the time and deleted everything you'd sent? It didn't make sense. You've always been an open book with me. Now it was as if you were trying to erase something that spilled inside, but no matter how you tried, it seeped through the pages.

I went to work and tried to focus. I gave a few vision tests and let a knobby, acne-covered freshman boy sleep on the cot in the corner. I checked some immunization charts for whooping cough vaccines and made a few calls. I taught my third period health class, but I barely felt in the room as I went over symptoms of herpes simplex and how to be intimate after contracting it. I felt like I shuffled through my day.

When the lunch bell rang, I sighed. The freshman boy had disappeared - funny how students feel ill during their least favorite class and miraculously recover afterwards - so I closed my door and relished the quiet as the squeaking of tennis shoes and shouts crescendoed outside. I needed a break. When am I going to get a break? Maybe I don't get any more. Maybe that's the thing I'm afraid to discover. Or maybe I'm afraid to discover something worse.

There was a timid knock at the door and I almost pretended I wasn't in my office. But Jamie had been having a rough time lately and even though I was exhausted and fragile, I couldn't turn her away. When I opened the door, she stood there with her pizza, her smile more nervous than usual.

"Hey, J," I said, trying not to sound too tired.

She shuffled in and slouched in her chair, eyes darting around. We ate quietly while I asked about her classes and her boyfriend of the week. She gave me polite answers, always telling me what I wanted to hear. She does that with me because she cares what I think. I don't know how to tell her I'll like her even if she does something I don't approve of.

She was almost done with her pizza when she blurted, "I'm moving."

Dumbstruck, I dropped my sandwich on my desk. "What?"

"Yeah. We're going to live with my aunt's family in Cleveland in a few days."

I gaped. I know that teachers need to get used to saying goodbye to their students, but this was only my second year. I wasn't used to it. "You're _leaving_?"

Jamie avoided eye contact and shrugged. "It'll be good. Fresh start, you know? Maybe I won't get in trouble so much."

I nodded, still stunned. "Yeah, that'd be good."

Jamie looked at me, searching for something. I realized she needed my confidence.

"You can do it. Not so much cursing in the halls though, huh?" I said, forcing myself to smile.

Jamie giggled, but then the room fell silent.

"I'll miss you, Ms. L-P."

My throat tightened. "I'll miss you too, J," I forced out. "You can call me Brittany."

Jamie's eyes darted around the room and she started blinking. I realized she was fighting off tears. She gave me a quick, dismissive nod. "I gotta finish my math homework before class," she mumbled.

Sad, but understanding she couldn't comprehend unsolicited support, I smiled. "Okay. Promise me you'll have lunch with me one last time before you go?"

"Sure. I'll come by tomorrow. I'm leaving Wednesday."

When I got home, I went up to our room. It was still disheveled from this morning. Sometimes I make the bed, but I don't have the energy lately. Besides, what's the point? We're going to unmake it later. I had a million things I needed to do, but all I could do was fall onto the bed. I let a few tears prickle out before I fell asleep.

That night you were extra jumpy as you made dinner. I helped Caleb with his homework and Ruby set up a fort in the living room with blankets and pillows. She kept calling us to come help her protect her castle. I wanted to crawl into Ruby's fort and snuggle her until we fell asleep, but we have other responsibilities. There isn't much time for the castles and games of childhood. Somehow I thought motherhood would make more space for those things.

Your phone was buzzing off the hook and you kept leaning over it, wooden spoon in hand as you multitasked. It was starting to grate on my nerves, but then I felt silly; most of the time you're multitasking, so cooking and texting shouldn't be a big deal. But I had that gnawing feeling that you were texting M and I wanted to throw your phone out the window. You seemed hyper responsive to the pulsing vibrations on the counter. Finally I let my curiosity get the best of me.

"Who are you texting?" I asked, trying to mask my disapproval.

You startled, giving me and Caleb a nervous smile. "Oh, um, my assistant," you responded, shaking your head as if you'd just realized you were in our kitchen. "We have a grant deadline next week."

I bit my lip and nodded. I couldn't ask more questions without letting you know I was suspicious. So I turned back to Caleb and helped him with his subtraction homework. He's pretty good at math, so at least I didn't have to put in much effort.

After dinner, you took the kids upstairs to bathe and put on pajamas while I did the dishes. Your phone buzzed once against the counter as I loaded the dishwasher. I paused. I could look if I wanted to. I could subject myself to one more line of text that would seep into my thoughts and ruin my concentration and sleep. Or I could find something soothing, an assurance that you really are the woman I married. I let the water drip off my hands as I debated, letting the tap run.

I'm not proud that I snooped, but I couldn't stop myself. It was as if I lost control of my limbs and was watching myself reach out and take the phone, unlocking the screen. And there, right before my eyes, was the thing I'd feared.

_Meet me at Luce Enoteca at 1 tomorrow. XOXO. _

I stared at it before slowly backing away, leaving the phone in the counter like a dead animal or a rotting pumpkin I didn't want to touch. I knew I shouldn't have looked. But it didn't matter if I looked or not. My behavior wouldn't change what you were doing. You were sneaking around with some woman behind my back.

I entertained the thought that it could be work related. But I'd never had a colleague text me _XOXO_ or anything like the texts you'd been getting lately. I'd never met a colleague at a five star restaurant for lunch on weekday. I felt sick to my stomach. I jammed the dishes into the dishwasher and hid in the guest room until you'd gone to bed.

The next day at work, I brought Jamie a cupcake, wanting to have a goodbye lunch with her. But she didn't show up. I waited and waited for her timid knock, but it never came. When the bell signaled the end of lunch, I stared at the cupcake on my desk, grateful I didn't have to teach a class so I had time to figure out what to do. Should I call her out of class to say goodbye? I wasn't supposed to call students out of class for something like that, but I couldn't bear the thought of not saying goodbye to her. I decided to check the attendance sheet to see if she had shown up to school. But when I checked with the front office, her name wasn't listed. I asked the attendance clerk if she'd left early, but she just gave me a tired smile and said, "She doesn't go here anymore. She got transferred to County."

I was stunned. Jamie had lied to me. She wasn't moving, she'd been expelled. I realized that all she'd ever wanted to do was make me proud of her. She didn't want me to think she'd failed.

I hadn't had a chance to tell her how much I cared about her. I wished I had given her my phone number or email address, just so she knew she had one adult who cared about her and would help her out if she got into trouble. But I'd missed my chance.

Fighting off tears, I went back into my office stared at the floor. I ate the cupcake, but afterwards I felt anxious and hollow. Staring at the crumb covered napkin, I thought about how, once again, I just hadn't tried hard enough. Maybe if I'd had her over for dinner a few times or given her my phone number if she needed to talk, she wouldn't have gotten expelled. Maybe if I'd told her how much I looked forward to our lunches, she would have had a reason to try to behave better at school. But I'd failed her. I felt like I was failing everything.

Suddenly I was consumed with inexplicable anger. Why do I always wait for things to play out in front of me? Why do I always think I have more time? Why do I expect that everything will be okay? Things _aren't_ always okay, and I just sit back and let them happen.

There was one thing I wasn't going to let happen; I wasn't going to let our marriage continue its collision course. I was going to figure out what was going on and put an end to it. By _any_ means necessary.

As I grabbed my purse and locked my office, I knew that what I was doing was something only a crazed, jealous woman would do. I told the front office staff I had a doctor's appointment and I'd be back for the last class of the day. They barely looked up as I left campus and got into my car. Maybe I _am_ a crazed, jealous woman. I've never really known who I am, aside from being with you and in recent years, being a mom. Maybe I _am_ the kind of person who snoops through your phone and email. Maybe I'm _not_ trusting or trustworthy. But admitting those things didn't stop me from driving to the restaurant where you were meeting M. If I'm a crazed, jealous woman, I might as well act like one.

I couldn't park on the main street in front of the restaurant. That would be too obvious. After being together for twenty years and married for seven, I'm trained to spot your car from miles away, and you mine. Sometimes I even double take to see if it's you even when I know it's not. So I parked on a side street and walked close to the buildings toward the restaurant. When I got a few yards from the entrance, I started to doubt myself. Should I walk in the front door? Peek in the window? Slide into a booth in the back? I decided not to commit to being completely crazy - although who was I kidding, I was skipping out on work to spy on my wife - and peeked through the window. I squinted, at first not being able to pick out one silhouette from the other. My own reflection obstructed my view as I hovered near the menu. Maybe I could just pretend to be reading it. That wouldn't look suspicious. I glanced at it, my eyes not even registering the dishes or prices. All I wanted to know was how much our marriage was worth to you.

I glanced down at my watch. 1:15. You were supposed to meet M at one, so you should have been seated and eating your salads already.

My eyes adjusted to the lighting and I scanned the tables inside. After just a few seconds, I spotted you, sitting in the back, your shiny, black hair cascading down your back. You were leaning towards a woman across the table from you. She had glistening brown hair twisted into a bun and jewelry and clothing you could only dream of owning. She definitely was not your assistant. She didn't see me, and I was glad. I watched your back move as you talked, leaning towards her and shifting as you moved your arms. Your hand came to rest on the table, right next to the bread basket and your water glass. Without a second thought, the other woman put her hand over yours and leaned into you. Her face was fixated on you, her mouth moving in hushed words as she spoke. You didn't move your hand.

I wanted to vomit. I hated myself for thinking this was a good idea. What had I expected to find? You feeding a group of underprivileged schoolchildren? The fact that I'd given you the benefit of the doubt for so long sickened me. Of course we haven't been having sex. Of course you couldn't hear what I was saying to you. Of course you were worried about your image being compromised - you were the one compromising it, right there in public. Of course what we had was too good to last.

Unable to look anymore, I turned away, studying the sidewalk grooves as I walked back to my car. I'd told the office I'd return, but there was no way I'd be able to go back to work. I hurried to my car and slid inside, not giving myself time to stop and break down before I started the engine. If I slow down, I stop. If I stop, everything falls apart.


	25. Frame

**A/N: I changed my publishing plan and decided to post two chapters before I make the entire story available for purchase. So, you get one today, and I'll post the next one by December 1st, along with the link to purchase. **(Practical note: the book title in this chapter is not a real book that I'm aware of. Sorry to the author if it is.) Also, to clarify, the purchasable versions of my stories are about Natalia Torres and Bridget Reid.

**Beta thanks to Muriel and JJ!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25: Frame<strong>

* * *

><p>As I drove, the anger I'd felt earlier when I realized Jamie had lied to me spilled over. How dare you ask me to play the role of the dutiful politician's wife, looking after your image and smiling for the cameras when you were being so reckless? You were canoodling with another woman, <em>in public<em>, while wearing your _wedding ring, _in the middle of a crisis at work. _Mission: America_ could take that and run with it, printing a picture of you and M as proof that people who aren't straight are reckless and deviant.

I was pulled into an undertow of angry tears. I could hardly see, I was crying so hard. I decided to pull over until I could breathe. I let myself be wracked with sobs until I was too tired to keep crying. The image of you leaning into M and caressing hands played over and over. It was astounding to me that such a small touch could feel like a knife to the belly. When I couldn't cry any more, I put my face to the window of my car, hoping the late November chill would help the puffiness go down.

But as I thought about it, I felt sick for another reason. What if all of Columbus found out and I got strange, pitying looks everywhere I went? Or what if people thought _I_ did something wrong? Something to make you run into another woman's arms? That would be worse than what I was feeling now, which was hard to imagine. All at once I understood why my sister had been so ashamed about Justin.

I had to decide what I was going to do now. Now that I knew what was going on, I had to take action. Would I confront you? Ignore you? Go stay with my sister in her new apartment while I figured out what to do? Getting away from you seemed the easiest, but that would mean leaving the kids, who needed me to take care of them until you got home from your board meeting tonight. I couldn't decide whose needs were greater. Should I continue along the path we've been on, pretending I am none the wiser? Or do I change our course?

I knew I couldn't do anything drastic. I couldn't go stay with my sister for a night. The thought of spending even one night away from Caleb and Ruby right now made me start to shake.

I was halfway home when I decided I didn't want to sit in our house of lies alone, and I really needed to pee. Looking around, I realized I was a block away from the library, one of our safe havens when the kids were potty training. I could use the bathroom and sit in the quiet there, knowing no one would find me in the stacks until I wanted to be found.

I parked and walked inside, looking at the ground so my hair would cover my blotchy face. I used the restroom and then wandered into the library. I automatically headed for the children's section, feeling foolish when I realized I didn't have Caleb or Ruby with me. I walked past the adult fiction section to the back corner. As I sat down against the wall with my knees pulled up to my chest, I caught the label on the shelf in front of me: _Self Help: Relationships. _

Some things can't be escaped.

Heavy, I leaned forward and hooked my finger over the binding of the closest book, pulling it out and examining the cover. _The Marriage Medic_. That sounded appropriate. Right now our marriage makes me feel like I'm dying. I doubted a book could resuscitate me, but I was willing to entertain any suggestion, any approach, any splinter of advice.

The first chapter was devoted to explaining the fundamental differences between men and women, and how those differences played out in a marriage. Skipping ahead to something actually useful, I picked chapter seven: _Top Ten Mistakes Women Make That Bring Down Marital Satisfaction_. I opened it to the correct page number and sighed. Number one was Smothering: Asking for attention, affection, reassurance. It was all too familiar.

I realized that over the past year, I'd smothered our marriage to death. I started crying again, burying my face in my hands to muffle any squeaks or sniffles.

I sat on the floor in a corner of the library for a long time. I looked at the titles of other books, but I didn't read them. I put _The Marriage Medic_ back on the shelf. I glanced at the section labeled _Infidelity_ but I couldn't bear to take a book out. When I started to feel stiff from sitting on the floor, I walked around until I felt like my legs were about to collapse under me.

I still didn't know what I was going to do when I got home. Should I confront you? Ignore what I'd seen? Ignore _you_?

As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I looked at it. It was a text from Hayley.

_I hope Justin feels bad about this some day._

Hayley's confrontation with Justin hadn't gone well. She'd stayed with us for two weeks before she found her own place, a studio downtown that she hated. I'd helped her move out of Justin's place, all the while wishing there were some way to reverse what Justin had done. But there wasn't. My sister was heartbroken and angry and above all, scared.

"What if that was it, Britt?" she'd asked. "What if he was my chance? I'm almost thirty! The odds of me getting married and having kids and a wonderful life like yours are getting slimmer every day..." She sniffled and shuddered as we hauled boxes out of my car. But all the while I was thinking that my life wasn't as beautiful and glamorous as she thought it was. Being married with children is not always the happily-ever-after you see on TV. If anything, my life was a facade.

_I'm going to be single forever_ :( Hayley texted. _I should start hoarding cats now._

I could hardly bring myself to reply.

_You'll find someone, _I assured her.

_No one wants to date me_, Hayley wrote back.

_Special people can only be with special people. Sometimes it takes awhile for them to find each other._

When she didn't respond after a few minutes, I realized how empty my consolation must have been. But in truth, I didn't know if I believed it any more. I thought I'd found my special person; it's always been you. But maybe I'm not special enough for you.

I steeled myself to reply to Hayley some more. If there's one thing I don't want to happen, it's for our problems to bleed over into my parenting and work and my relationships with my parents and sister. I was going to focus all the energy I had - which wasn't much, since it takes all my concentration to fight the nausea threatening to overtake me - into being the better in every other part of my life.

I swallowed my nausea down and typed out a reply as I got to my feet. _You'll feel better soon_. But in my head, I was thinking how phony it sounded. My life hadn't gotten better.

_Will you come over for a little bit? I'm lonely :(_

Hayley's plea gutted me, but I couldn't be around her right now and keep myself together. So I lied.

_Sorry, I've got the kids with me. Soon, though!_

As I walked out of the library, I thought about what Hayley had done after she found out Justin had cheated. She'd confronted him about the emails and texts and demanded an explanation. He had lashed out at her, telling her she was crazy for invading his privacy.

Our family doesn't talk to Justin anymore, and that didn't bode well for what would happen if they found out about you and M.

I know Justin and Hayley's situation is different than ours is. We own a house together. We're married, and that means more to me than words or rings or papers can signify. And above all, we have two beautiful children neither of us would ever want to hurt. If nothing else, we will always have that.

So while I entertained the idea of confronting you about M, I decided not to. I didn't want you to get angry and yell at me. It wasn't that I cared about that fact that I'd invaded your privacy; at this point all I wanted was to keep the frame of our marriage intact so I wouldn't have to pack boxes and move into a crappy apartment like Hayley. I didn't want to have to explain to my parents and my sister what I had happened. And above all, I didn't want our kids to feel like they had to choose a side. I would never make them do that. They're _children_. I will suffer any fate to protect them and their innocence.

Thinking about how your betrayal could impact our children made my heart hurt even more. My stomach was upset and I felt weak and shaky, but the thing that made me hurt the most was the thought of Caleb and Ruby being scared by what was happening between you and me. I decided that even if I was a total mess right now, I wanted to put effort into being a good mom. That was one thing I could control.

I let my mom know she was off the hook for the afternoon and went and picked Caleb and Ruby up from school. When Ruby saw me sitting on the bench outside her classroom, her face broke into a grin and she ran towards me, burying her face in my lap, wrapping her arms around my waist. I patted her back and murmured how happy I was to see her. Because really, I was. She is a treasure I will have my whole life, and her uninhibited joy at my mere presence settled my stomach a little. I was so grateful for our little jewel in that moment.

She stood up and showed me the artwork in her hand, a messy finger painting with cotton balls glued onto it in the shape of a snowman. "See, he's wearing his coat!" she said, showing me where she'd tried to color one of the cotton balls with a pink marker. "He won't melt!" I hugged her tighter, using all my strength to not cry, and told her I wanted to take her and Caleb to get cocoa. She asked if she could have cookies with her cocoa and I patted her on the cheek and said, "Nice try."

Caleb was happy to see me too, but he was more suspicious. He relies on his routine to ease his anxiety, and he knew something was wrong if I was picking him up instead of Gramma Vickie. As he greeted me with a hug, I felt like he was registering my upset stomach and shaking hands with his own. He held my hand through the parking lot as Ruby danced and skipped a few paces ahead of us, even though he outgrew holding my hand a few years ago.

We went to get cocoa, taking it to-go and making a plan for the afternoon. When we got home, I heated up a pot of chicken noodle soup and told Caleb and Ruby to collect every blanket in the house and pile them on the couch. When the soup and nest of blankets were done, we snuggled up together and watched the old claymation _Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer_. Ruby chatted through the movie, saying Rudolf should be proud of his ruby red nose because it's special. I pulled her closer into me, hoping her warmth would make my chest stop aching. It loosened but didn't let go.

You got home late that night, after the kids had gone to bed. My stomach churned when you walked in the door. I hadn't been able to eat much, but I was certain whatever was in my stomach would come up if I had to touch you. You sighed as you set down your briefcase and slipped off your shoes. Then, to my horror, you walked over to me and put one hand casually on my hip. The same hand that M had touched earlier. It burned into my skin.

Frantic but paralyzed, I turned my face to the wall so you couldn't kiss my lips. You gave me a chaste peck on the cheek and patted my side. "I'm gonna do some work," you murmured. You turned and looked over your shoulder as you walked into your office. "Did you have a good day?"

My throat was stuck.

"Ruby made a nice art project." It was the only thing I could think of to say.

"Yeah?" you asked, already sitting down at your desk and opening your laptop.

I watched you, noticing how the flicks of your wrist and the way you settled into your chair now looked different. Everything about you was different. You were not the wife I kissed goodbye this morning. Maybe you never were.

You noticed my silence, because you looked up from your desk with a soft, fatigued smile. "You're a good mom, Britt," you said. "We're lucky to have you."

Hearing you say nice things when you were doing otherwise made my stomach hurt more, so I turned and went upstairs.

The next few days were marked with the same sick paralysis I'd felt since coming back to our house after seeing you with M. The only times I didn't feel frozen were when I had one of our children in my lap or by my side. They were my safety. I know Caleb noticed something was wrong, because he started following me around the house, offering to help with the dishes and laundry and sitting closer to me than usual on the couch while we practiced his reading. He still did his homework with you every night, but he didn't have the same anxious magnetism to you that he did with me. I felt bad about absorbing every ounce of comfort he could give me, but I didn't know any other way to get through the day.

"Britt, what's going on?" you asked after a few days, giving me a concerned frown. "You're acting really strange."

I shrugged and avoided eye contact.

You bit your lip and eyed me. "Are you getting sad again?"

I didn't know how to answer that question honestly. I'd been fluctuating between devastated and furious. But depression and finding out my marriage is a sham are different things.

"Nope," I said, trying to get you to stop blaming me for our problems.

"Are you still taking your medicine?"

I scowled at you. How dare you suggest I was intentionally sabotaging our family.

Seeing my expression, you retreated. You knew you'd gone too far. "Sorry. I know you wouldn't stop without telling me. Is there something I can help with?"

"You've done enough."

Your brow crinkled as you masked your guilt. There was a pause before you said, "Um, okay... I was thinking about going away for a weekend together like you suggested. I can take some time off at the end of January."

I shrugged again. "If you want."

I couldn't meet your eyes. The thought of going on vacation with you, knowing there was an expectation to have sex and relax and try to disguise something _you'd_ tarnished made me feel sick. I couldn't entertain the idea for more than a few seconds. Luckily I had the perfect excuse not to go. "But Ruby has another tae kwon doh exhibition that weekend."

"Your mom can take her."

I shook the suggestion off. "She'd be mad if one of us didn't make it."

You studied my face for a minute and I did everything I could to mask the anger and hurt.

"Okay," you said quietly. "Let me know if you change your mind."

I got up and left the room, knowing I wouldn't change my mind. You'd made it up for me.

Some people might argue I was being a pushover, waiting for you to decide where we were headed. But I didn't have the energy to decide. In times when I feel weak, I am glad you are so strong. You'll know when you're ready to change things. Even if I'm never loved again, I have experienced the deepest love imaginable. Nothing lasts forever. I get to live the rest of my life knowing that once upon a time, I had a happily ever after. Now our children are what bind us together even though your love has faded. Because of them, I won't be allowed to forget. And through them, I am showered with love every day.

There are worse things than faded love. I still have a roof over my head and food to eat. I'm willing to live with the way things are now if it means I don't have to change or move or be separated from our beautiful children. Maybe it's sad. If I left, maybe I would eventually fall in love with someone else. But my life with you is the only one I ever dreamed of. It's familiar and safe, and for that, I'm willing to compromise. You are the only home I've known. Even if our house is haunted now, I would never choose to be homeless.

* * *

><p>Two weeks before Christmas, bad things started happening. Right before my lunch break ended - I eat alone now - I got a text from you.<p>

_You told me you said no comment to Mission: America._

I knew I was in deep trouble. When I got home there would be curses and yelling and your angry glare as you asked me what the hell I'd been thinking. I'd known it was coming. I had hoped, with that clenched feeling in my belly that has become my constant companion lately, that it wouldn't blow up the way I expected it to. But of course it did.

I read the text again.

_You told me you said no comment to Mission: America._

That was all it said.

But it said so much more. It said there would be no peaceful family dinner or chaste goodnight kiss. It meant that I had to stop being upset about M because I had made a mistake that could cost you and hundreds of innocent domestic violence survivors their security. I had put your job in danger. Even if our marriage is in serious trouble, I would never do anything to jeopardize your career. And yet I had.

I pulled up the_ Mission: America_ website and read through the newest article. Every word was a dagger hurled in your direction. I could hardly read the first paragraph without wanting to punch my computer screen.

_Santana Lopez-Pierce, JD, is the executive director of one of the largest nonprofit organizations in the state of Ohio. But has she poisoned this previously pristine organization with her propaganda? Sources say Lopez-Pierce, 36, is a staunch promoter of homosexual activity. She helped write the gay marriage initiative when she was just months out of law school and has since been associated with other contaminating agencies. One look at her resume, viewable via search engine, as well as news articles, including her marriage announcement, confirm Lopez-Pierce's association with the gay agenda._

_Since being appointed Executive Director of the Domestic Peace Center, Lopez-Pierce has grossly mismanaged funds, channeling thousands of dollars into so-called "diversity trainings" for her employees, where they are forced to attend seminars held by gay propagandists._

_When asked about the how the organization is taking advantage of women and children going through the worst of times, Lopez-Pierce's "wife," Brittany Lopez-Pierce, 35, stated, "I think she's doing a great job. I'm sure [the organization] would serve more people if they had the funding."_

_It is clear to us at Mission: America that Lopez-Pierce's employees have been roped into promoting the homosexual agenda. We have received confirmation that the Domestic Peace Center is turning away higher numbers of clients than ever before, and we can't help but be curious if those who resist Lopez-Pierce's agenda are being denied services._

I was so angry and so sick, I started to itch as my face burned and sweat prickled around my neck. Not only was the article worded in the worst possible way, it looked like I'd thrown you under the bus. Even if you've hurt me more than I ever imagined you could, I'm not one for retaliation. I would never do something to jeopardize your livelihood.

As soon as I could breathe, I started to prepare a defense for when I got home.

_I was quoted out of context. If I had known who I was talking to, I would have hung up without saying a word. I'm sorry I put your job in danger. I'm willing to go on any record, any time, to try to fix it._

But when I got home, you pretended it hadn't happened. You helped Caleb with his homework and made sure Ruby cleaned up all her art supplies. I could feel you were tense, holding back from yelling at me. We've been holding everything back from each other lately. Maybe that's why we're still able to stand being around each other.

But I was willing to take responsibility for what I'd done. I'm an adult and it was the right thing to do. Your indiscretions don't change the fact that I'm a person who apologizes for my mistakes.

After the kids went to bed, I went to find you downstairs. You were unloading the dishwasher, your hair still in the tight bun it had been in all day. I stood in the doorway and watched you. You were rigid and zipped up. I needed to know what you were thinking.

"Is work a total mess because of the article?"

You inhaled through your nose and exhaled in a gust. "I have a _lot_ of crap to deal with in the next few weeks."

I nodded, trying to read your body. It wasn't giving me any clues. "Are you mad at me?" I asked.

You bit your lips and paused. "You were quoted out of context and I know you wouldn't have said anything if you'd known who you were talking to. It was an honest mistake."

There was a pause as you slid a plate into the cabinet.

Your shoulders let go a little bit. "Yes, I'm mad, but blowing up at you for something you didn't mean to do won't help our marriage. And honestly, it was probably the least offensive part of the article. Anyone with a brain would know you didn't say that."

I nodded, still unsure you were really capable of containing the anger I imagined you were feeling.

You continued. "I'm trying to keep my work and personal life separate right now. I know I haven't been putting enough effort into our marriage, and I don't want this to add to the list of things I'm doing wrong. Expressing my anger won't do any good when things aren't great with us. It'll blow over." You batted your hand through the air as if to convince yourself it wasn't a big deal.

I was surprised to hear you say you weren't putting effort into our marriage. You're having an affair, which is not very good wife behavior, but do people have affairs and work on their marriage at the same time? It didn't make any sense. But nothing makes sense these days.

Hearing you acknowledge your shortcomings aloud made my heart tighten. You'd given me a tiny window to look through, and as I did, I was reminded of when things were better. It reminded me that, despite everything, I still love you.

You'd said it would blow over soon. Did you mean the article, or the rough patch in our marriage? Because I don't think craters blow over.

"Okay, well..." I said, looking around. You hadn't given me any idea of what I was supposed to do. "If you have anything you want to tell me, I'm here." I shrugged, knowing you wouldn't tell me about M or your feelings.

You nodded, placing a stack of bowls in the cabinet. "I'm going to try to keep work and family extra separate for a while." You shot a tight smile over your shoulder as you leaned back towards the dishwasher. "I'll be here with you and the kids, same as always."

I bristled at that. How could you pretend things were the same as they were a year ago? A year ago we were so much happier. We enjoyed each others' company. We had regular sex. We didn't seek refuge from each other in secrets or work or other people. We've always confided in our friends, but we've never been secretive.

I went upstairs and got in bed, angry and confused by your forced placidness. It was just one more lie you were telling me. I was tired of lies.

The next day you texted me on your lunch break.

_does Ruby want the pink or purple tea set for xmas? im at Target_.

I texted back _pink, of course_. I almost added a smiley face, but I didn't. You weren't giving me anything to smile about. But I did appreciate your help with the Christmas shopping. I guess you were putting effort into pretending you cared about our marriage by caring about our children.

The next week felt like I was dropped on a conveyor belt towards Christmas, with hoops of fire and smashing fists and other cartoon perils I had to avoid if I wanted to survive. You had taken care of shopping for the kids - you've shopped for our kids since the day my pregnancy test came back positive - but there were gifts for our friends and family, and cookies to bake, and donations to make, and a million other details I had to force myself to care about. But in a way I was glad I had so much to do. Focusing on tasks prevented me from falling into a pit of despair. I didn't want that to happen until after Christmas. I needed to have one more Christmas in our house.

You didn't seem to share my panic. True to your word, you were trying to keep work and home separate. I know you were working overtime to deal with the _Mission: America_ debacle, but when you got home, you switched gears.

Seeing that the frame of our family was intact even if the heart was gone soothed some of my nerves. I still felt sick all the time and had a hard time eating and sleeping, but I wasn't in a constant state of turmoil. Feeling hollow started to feel normal. But the dark side of that was that, once I adjusted to the new way things were, my mind started to wander. I wondered what had happened between you and M. How long had it been going on? How many times had you snuck off to lunch with her? How many times had you -

I choked, trying not to vomit at the thought of you naked with another woman.

Or worse, telling another woman that you love her.

I poured all my energy into being the best mom I could be. The kids and I decorated cookies and took them to our friends, spending a long afternoon at Julie and Zoe's and Elinor and Danielle's. I got to meet Julie's boyfriend, Owen, who was friendly and warm. He seems deserving of Julie. I hope he doesn't break her heart.

A week before Christmas, Principal Collins poked her head in my office.

"Brittany, in my office please," she said in a commanding tone. It wasn't threatening, but the way she spoke told me I probably shouldn't stop in the staff room and check for pastries on my way. I put away the files on my desk and locked my filing cabinet before walking towards her office. As I did, I wracked my brain for what she could want to talk to me about that could be so urgent. No one else was in her office when I got there, so I took a seat, smoothing my skirt over my knees as I did.

She shut the door.

That wasn't a good sign. Principal Collins is an open-door kind of a principal.

"I'll just get right to the point," she said, sliding into her chair behind her desk. "One of our teachers overheard some students talking about something that happened last week and I wanted to get your side of the story. The students in question reported that you drove them to a location off campus after school. Did that happen?"

Her face and voice weren't threatening, but I could tell she was deeply concerned.

I nodded. I had driven two students off campus after school one day. I'd driven a few students after school since I took this job. I know it's against the rules during school hours, but I was pretty sure after school was okay.

"It was after school hours."

Principal Collins exhaled through her nose. "We have a strict school policy about that, Brittany," she said. "It's a liability the school can't afford."

I nodded. If I put up no resistance and admitted what I'd done was wrong, hopefully I wouldn't be disciplined.

"Then there's the matter of where you were taking them."

It's not like I'd been driving them to the mall or anything. If I spend all day promoting being responsible when it comes to their reproductive health, I need to put my money where my mouth is and help them get access to I done something else wrong? While I had been driving my students, thoughts lurked in the back of my mind about perhaps being more covert or finding another ride for them. But I rationalized that it wasn't a big deal to make sure my actions matched up with the things I advocate for.

"Where did you take them?"

"To the clinic."

Dr. Collins pursed her lips and closed her eyes for a second. "Do you understand why that could be problematic?"

I shook my head.

"It looks like you're encouraging students to have _sex_, Brittany."

That was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard Dr. Collins say. I frowned at her. "They're going to have sex anyway."

Dr. Collins shook her head. "We can't encourage them."

"I'm not encouraging them, I'm making sure they lower the risk of a bad situation," I protested. "I'm the _health_ teacher. I spend a good chunk of the year lecturing them about sexual health and safety. If a student is taking steps to be responsible, I support them. I don't see what the big deal is."

"You can't do that in this position," Dr. Collins said, continuing to shake her head. "This is a _serious_ disciplinary problem, Brittany. You shouldn't have students in your car and you _absolutely_ shouldn't take them to the clinic. Especially since - and I know this is a sensitive subject," she said, glancing around, "Your marriage is viewed by some as 'alternative.' People have wrong ideas about that sort of thing."

Our marriage may be many things, but it's not _alternative_. It's a regular marriage. Not a good one, but I supposed that's regular too. But what stunned me was the fact that she was bringing up the fact that I'm married to woman in the first place. Who I'm married to should have nothing to do with how my ability to do my job.

Dr. Collins continued. "If something like this happens again, I will be forced to terminate your employment."

I sat for a moment, stunned. Was she threatening my job?

"Look," Dr. Collins said, softening as she glanced at her clasped hands on her desk. "You're a talented educator and a great nurse. It's hard enough to find someone qualified for your position, and I don't want to have to replace you. But you _need_ to learn your place."

Dr. Collins might as well have sat me in the corner of the attendance office on a stool labeled "naughty chair." I had never felt so belittled in my life. Even if she objected to what I had done, there was no need to for her to speak to me that way, and it was totally uncalled for for her to bring up our marriage. I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

I forced myself to speak, but my words were stiff and tight.

"It won't happen again."

Dr. Collins gave me a sturdy nod. "Good." Suddenly her demeanor changed and she gave me a phony smile. "See you at the PTA meeting tonight."

I'd forgotten about the PTA meeting. I was dreading it, but I had no choice but to go. It was a job requirement.

When I got back to my office, I texted you, reminding you I wouldn't be home until seven. You weren't happy about it, but I was relieved I wouldn't have to spend so much time at home with you.

The meeting was boring and too long. It was hard to sit amidst people who cared about such petty things as changes to the school dress code when there were bigger problems to talk about. One mom with a piercing voice and sharp, beady eyes dragged every issue out so long that even Dr. Collin's practiced smile grew strained as she tried to move the meeting forward.

The sad thing is that I used to be one of those parents who cared about the little things. You and I used to go to all the PTA meetings at Caleb's school before we transferred him and you took a new job. We would have talked about each issue on the way home and continued as we got ready for bed. But now I'm struggling to get through every day and I don't care about the dress code or anything else.

In order to get through the meeting, I started listening to the hushed conversation happening behind me. Two moms I couldn't see were whispering and giggling. When I tuned my ear to their conversation and blocked out Dr. Collin's voice, I heard them rating the dads in the room on a scale of one to ten. It was harmless, I suppose. You and I used to check people out together. But as I listened to them talk, I couldn't help but wonder if that's how it had started for you. Had you started noticing more? Had you started imagining what it would be like to be with someone else? What had given you the final push to do it? Was it her? The circumstances?

Was it me?

My chest tightened and I squeezed my eyes shut to keep from crying. I know that most of the parents at the school are about ten years older than me, but sitting in the stiff metal chair, I felt older than I had ever felt in my life.

Finally I heard the telltale squeaks and slams of the folding chairs around the room, signalling the meeting was over. Even though I was supposed to stay until all the parents left, I folded my chair, added it to the stack, and rushed out the door.

As I was backing out of the parking lot, something made a loud noise and my body jolted forward. It sounded like someone had fired a gun. Stunned, I looked around.

Fuck.

I'd crashed into a pole.

Was I so disoriented that I'd forgotten about the pole that had always been in that exact location in the parking lot I parked in every day? I wanted to scream. I got out of the car and walked around the back, dreading what I'd find. Sure enough, there was an impressive dent in the bumper and the trunk had crinkled noticeably.

Fuck.

That was going to cost a lot of money to fix and make our insurance go up. One more thing to add to the list of things I'd lost control of.

I got back in the car and took deep, shaky breaths. _It's just a car, Brittany. It's a thing. It can be fixed._

I drove home, hoping for once I'd be greeted by a soothing sound or smell of, best of all, quiet. I trudged up to the door, cringing when I heard Ruby's muffled yelling. I opened the door, hoping to find something manageable.

But what I found instead was utter chaos. Ruby was screaming on the floor in the middle of the living room, wailing, "Simonnnnn! Come backkkkk!"

The smell of smoke hit me square in the face as you shouted to Ruby, "He's hiding, Roo! I'll help you find him in a minute, but for Christ's sake, stop _screaming_! You're too old to be acting like this!"

Caleb was cowering in the corner, hunched over a piece of paper, gripping his pencil as he drew what was undoubtedly a map.

Ruby kept screaming, "Simon's goooooone! He ran awayyyy!"

You whined back at her, "He's _hiding_! Calm! Down!"

I considered turning around and pretending I'd never walked in the door. But I was trying to be a better mom. I set down my purse and walked over to Caleb, guided him up by the elbow, and took him upstairs. I put him at his little desk and kissed his forehead. "It's okay to take quiet time when it's too loud down there," I whispered. Caleb nodded, already reimmersed in his map.

I peeked under Caleb's bed for Simon, finding nothing but a few pairs of dirty socks and a library book we thought we'd lost. Willing myself not to lose it, I checked under Ruby's bed, our bed, and finally, to my utter relief, found Simon under the guest bed. I carried him down the stairs, ignoring his protests, and set him down on the floor in front of Ruby, who was still screaming. Ruby quieted like a kettle taken off the stove and her hands darted forward, clutching him to her chest.

Simon flailed in Ruby's arms, not wanting to be captured in her stronghold of adoration. I bent down and gave Ruby a kiss on the forehead. "Be gentle, Roo," I warned. "Simon will hide again if you're too rough."

Ruby loosened her grasp on Simon and scratched behind his ears. Simon stopped scrambling and settled into Ruby's lap.

"Thank god you're home," you said, peering into the living room. "I'm kind of losing my sh- losing my mind here. Set the table?"

Pursing my lips and dreading being near you in the smoky kitchen, I walked towards you. As I placed the plates and silverware on the table, I decided the silence between us was worse than the elephant in the room. Even if there's a third party, we're still married. We're supposed to be civil to each other. That, and I had to tell you about the damage to the car before you saw it in the morning.

The most painful thing about standing in the kitchen with you was that I wanted, if only for a moment, to talk to the loyal, supportive wife I'd had a year ago. I wanted your softness and your sympathy. After a day like the one I'd just had, I needed support. You've always been my foundation. My last shred of hope pushed me to speak.

"I had a really hard day," I began, letting my words droop as I set the table.

"Yeah?" you asked, frantically stirring something on the stove.

"Yeah. I got an earful from the principal, my students were out of control, and as I was leaving the PTA meeting, I-"

"You know what, Britt?" you snapped, interrupting me. "I'm sorry you had a 'bad day,' but you have no fucking idea," you said. "I had a meeting with the corporate rep from Abercrombie this morning and they decided to focus all their corporate social responsibility on animal shelters, which means this afternoon I had to tell an entire department that kittens and puppies have been deemed more important than our abused clients, and that one of them doesn't have a job anymore. Oh, and Mallory put in her two weeks' notice."

I stared at you, a fist full of silverware clenched in my hand. I was flabbergasted by how quickly you'd cut me down, insisting your life is harder. You're not the one living in a house of lies and deceit. You're not the one who is doing everything she can to keep our family together.

I tossed the silverware on the table with a clatter and lifted my hands up in angry surrender.

"I'm _done_ letting you treat me like this."

Without waiting for your response, I stormed through the living room, grabbing my coat and purse. I yanked the door open and stepped out into the cold, slamming the door firmly behind me.


	26. Pythia

**Chapter 26: Pythia**

**A/N: Thanks so much to Muriel, JJ, Jane, and Frogs for all their help! I am so, so excited for the end of this story.**

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><p>I walked to my car, feeling angrier, if that were possible, at the sight of the ruined bumper and dent in the trunk. I climbed inside, started the engine, and roared out of the driveway. I was going to take a break until being in our house didn't make me feel like screaming or crying.<p>

When I got to the end of the street, I didn't know where to go. I could always go to my parents' or Hayley's, but I didn't want them to see how incapable I was of handling my own life. If I talked to them, I'd have to tell them about you and M. And if I told them about you and M, I'd have to figure out what I was going to do about it, and I had no clue what I wanted to do.

I decided to go to Julie. I could tell her about M. She'd understand. She'd shared secrets that were just as painful with me. If there is anyone in the world I trust as much as I once trusted you, it's Julie. So I drove downtown, wipers flicking snowflakes from my windshield, blurring the neon signs of restaurants and bars and coffee shops.

But when I got to Julie's house, I saw her boyfriend's car outside and the lights in her windows were dimmed. Even after all these years, I can't bring myself to interrupt her happiness even for a minute.

I saw a parking spot outside a coffee shop I'd been to once or twice after my prenatal yoga class when I pregnant with Caleb. I hadn't had their coffee, of course, but I liked the way the smell of the coffee soaked into my clothes and hair and skin so I smelled good all day. I went inside and ordered a decaf mocha and sat at a table, flipping through a magazine. The images of pristine, fashionable rooms in designer houses made me feel far away from the chaos I'd left.

"Are you Brittany?"

I looked up. A tall, blonde woman with a warm, round face was smiling down at me with her hand on the back of the chair across from me.

"Um..." I glanced around at the empty coffee shop, unsure why someone was here looking for me. "...yeah."

Her smile grew as she drew the chair out, making it squeak against the floor. She set her bag down and settled into the chair before bending over and pulling out a binder.

"Nice to meet you," she grinned. "Charlotte."

"Uh... hi, Charlotte." I tried to give her a genuine smile, but I'm sure I looked tired. I think I've looked tired since Caleb was born.

There was a moment of silence that felt loaded. I looked at her face more carefully and noticed how beautiful she was. Not made-up beautiful, but the kind of beautiful that doesn't change no matter what time of day it is or how old a person gets. Her face, framed with wavy, shoulder-length hair, was fresh and would have been beautiful without the light coat of mascara or tint on her lips. A few freckles were stained into her nose and cheeks, showing where the light fell when she was in the sun. I'm sure she looks beautiful in the sun.

Charlotte surged forward and opened the binder, flipping through a few pages in sheet protectors. "So this is the color scheme I was thinking for the shampoo room," she said, clearly enthusiastic. "Obviously I'll have to wait to see the space tomorrow to make sure it fits, but I wanted to get your initial feel for the palette."

I frowned and looked at the binder where a selection of brown and off-white paint chips were positioned next to a photograph of the corner of a hair salon. "Shampoo room?" I said.

"We don't have to use these, of course. It's just an initial idea. If you want to go with something more ethereal, we can do that. I just thought maybe this remodel was a time for something different."

I watched as she flipped to another page and started talking about different painting techniques that could create a watercolor illusion. After a minute I decided to let her know I was confused.

"I'm sorry, but..."

"You don't like this either?" she asked, disappointed.

I tried to reassure her with a quick smile. "No, I do. But I think you've got the wrong Brittany."

"You're not Brittany Thomas?"

I scrunched my lips to one side and shook my head. "Not unless I had a crazy night in Vegas recently."

Charlotte hunched forward a bit, looking down at her samples. "That's a shame. Do you happen to have a hair salon you want redecorated?"

"Not unless I won one in my earnings," I said. "Which would be kind of cool. I like doing hair. I do my daughter's every morning."

"How old is she?" Charlotte asked, tilting her head as she imagined me doing a little girl's hair.

"Five going on thirty five."

"Cute," Charlotte giggled.

Remembering the chaos I had left at our house, I grimaced. "Sometimes she is."

There was a pause and Charlotte's gaze fell to her binder. "Well… sorry to interrupt," she said, closing it and getting up. "I hope the other Brittany shows up."

I smiled and went back to reading my magazine as Charlotte took a seat at a table a few yards away. She poured over her binder, taking a few paint chips out and rearranging them. I bent my head back to the magazine in my lap. I wasn't reading it, just looking at the pictures and trying to forget about the disaster I had run away from.

I tried not to keep looking up at her, but I couldn't help it. She was so energetic and sure of herself, she commanded my attention. But at the same time, she was friendly and unassuming. I wondered who she was waiting for and hoped they would show up.

She checked her phone a few times and, after fifteen minutes, stepped out to make a call. She came right back in, shivering from the cold, and shaking her head at her phone. She sat back down and waited another ten minutes before she shut her binder.

I caught her eye and pouted. It sucks to be left waiting. She shrugged.

She nodded at my magazine. "I love that magazine," she said. "I used to get all kinds of good ideas from it."

I smiled and looked at the heading. I was reading _Real Simple_. I hadn't even looked at the title when I picked it up.

"Have you ever tried their recipes?" she asked. "I'm a little skeptical, but their other ideas are good, so..." she trailed off, looking around the coffee shop.

"I haven't," I said, turning the page. I should have been annoyed at this strange woman interrupting my desperate attempts to avoid dealing with my life, but I wasn't. It was nice to talk to someone who didn't know me or my problems.

She seemed to be studying my face. "So what brings you to this fine establishment on a Thursday night?" she asked, trying to fill the silence I'd let sit for too long.

I contemplated telling her the truth. _My wife is having an affair. My children are falling apart. I made a big mistake at work. I crashed my car. I'm miserable and lonely and that's not going to change any time soon._ But that would have been overwhelming, so I just said, "I'm avoiding going home."

She grinned. "Me too." She looked around the coffee shop, taking in the few customers who sat at other tables. "Home is a hotel at the moment, so there's not much to do." She leaned toward me with a sense of hesitant camaraderie. "What are you avoiding?"

Talking about my messed up marriage or my terrible parenting or my job wasn't going to make me feel better, so I just said, "Thinking about it."

She gave a quiet, breathy laugh. "Amen."

There was quiet as I tried to look at my magazine, but I felt her looking at me. I glanced up at her again.

"Got any tips?" I asked.

Her mouth screwed up to the side and she looked around, eyes resting on the menu above the counter. "The coffee's pretty good. And magazines aren't bad. But that's not really going to do the trick."

"Yeah," I sighed. "Hasn't worked so far."

"Want me to give it a try?"

I didn't know what she meant, so I shrugged. Couldn't hurt.

She smiled, taking my shrug as an agreement. She got up and came to sit across from me at my table. "If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"

I thought of all the places I might want to be. Usually my bed would be my first choice, but my bed is also your bed, and since sleeping next to you has been excruciating lately, I didn't want to be there. I thought about being in the bathtub, but lately I haven't been able to take a bath without hearing the kids calling for me or you or Simon. I thought about faraway places I'd never visited, where I could land and start a completely different life. But I couldn't choose a place I'd never been. That was too risky. So I just said, "the beach."

"Interesting," Charlotte said. "Why the beach?"

I hadn't thought about my answer very deeply. I just shrugged and said, "I like the water."

Charlotte nodded. "Isn't it kind of overwhelming though? Not knowing how deep it is or how far you'd have to sail before you find land again?"

I hadn't thought about it that hard. I guess that much water is overwhelming.

"That's why I like mountains," Charlotte said. "You can see far, far away, but you know that you could stop at any point and be okay. And when the view gets overwhelming, you can just sit under a tree and not think about the distance."

Charlotte's response was far more metaphorical than I'd anticipated.

"Easier to get lost, though," I pointed out.

Charlotte gave a shrug, her smile wavering as she said, "I have a talent for that."

I studied her face and the way she seemed to draw into herself. She looked lonely. I didn't want her to feel that way.

"Me too," I said.

It's true. I have a talent for getting lost. One of your first presents to me was a GPS. And beyond physically getting lost, I tend to get lost in my own mind too. "But sometimes getting lost is better than the adventure you set out to have."

Her smile returned a little bit. "Ithaca."

I tilted my head, letting her know I didn't understand her reference.

"In the Odyssey," she explained. "Odysseus tries to dodge the draft for the Trojan war by pretending he's crazy because he doesn't want to leave his wife and baby. But his plan doesn't work and he has to fight for ten years. Then he tries to go home, but there are storms and monsters and temptresses and shit everywhere. It takes him another ten years to get back to Ithaca, the city where he's supposed to be king. The whole time he's trying to get home, he remembers how beautiful and perfect his city is. But when he gets there, it's nothing like he remembered. It's small and poor and his wife is surrounded by creepy men who want to marry her."

I pursed my lips, waiting for Charlotte to tell me the ending.

"No one recognizes him, and his son is a grown man who doesn't know him. Eventually he proves himself, and gets his wife to realize he's her husband, but it's kind of a letdown."

I frowned. "That sucks. Missing twenty years of his life."

Charlotte shook her head. "But he _didn't_," she said emphatically. "He had a more exciting life than he would have had if he'd stayed in Ithaca."

I contemplated that. Maybe Charlotte had a point, but missing twenty years of a relationship and watching a child grow up is a big sacrifice for adventure.

"Isn't the point that Ithaca gave him the adventure?" I asked. "If he didn't have somewhere he wanted to get back to, he would have just stayed put."

Charlotte shrugged and gave me a playful smile. "Maybe I'm just a sucker for an adventure."

Wanting to hear more about Charlotte's interpretation of the Odyssey, I asked what adventures she'd had. I was absorbed by her as she told me how she'd begun; the small town daughter of two accountants who went to a good college and was poised for a career in banking. But one day she woke up and decided she didn't want to be that person. She didn't want to be the good girl who worked hard and married well and had good little babies.

She told me tales of heartbreak and hilarity and triumph in the face of struggle. As she spoke, I saw that she had made herself the heroine of her own story, that she had crafted her own narrative of what she wanted her life to be. She didn't let her conservative parents or lack of an Ithaca deter her. So even though she was thirty-two, single, and didn't have a career path, she was one of the happiest people I'd ever met. Her accounts of years in New York, Austin, London, and New Orleans warmed and mesmerized me. She'd worked as a phone sex operator, a waitress, a dog washer, a nanny, and was now a freelance interior designer. She had said yes to every opportunity life presented to her, and never regretted anything.

"So when a new opportunity came up, you just... left? Picked up and moved to a new city?"

Charlotte grinned, proud of herself. "Whenever I wanted a change. People are starving for inspiration and transformation."

"And did it happen? The transformation?"

She dipped her head. "Not as quickly as I thought. The first time I had this magical idea that when I got to a new city, I'd become a different person. Someone without my flaws and struggles and history. Which obviously didn't happen."

"But..." I prompted, knowing there was more.

"But I did become someone I like being around most of the time. I did a lot of things I'm proud of."

Intrigued by the idea of transformation, I gave her a smile that encouraged her to continue telling me about her journey.

"I used to be kind of shy. It was hard for me to be in groups or go to new places. But I decided I didn't want to be like that anymore, so I pushed myself to go out and meet new people and try new places."

"And did it work?"

"Kind of," Charlotte said. "It's not like it's always easy now. But it takes less effort than it used to."

I nodded, contemplating. What if I decided to change the things I do to match with the person I wish I could be? Would I have transformation too?

"I also stopped worrying so much about money. After a few years of winging it, I realized that, even when times are hard and I can only afford ramen, I'm always okay. People spend way too much time worrying about money."

I couldn't relate to that as much, because you're so successful and, apart from a few years when you were in law school and didn't want me to buy organic food, we've always been comfortable. But I understood what she meant; the pursuit of security is sometimes more anxiety-provoking than it needs to be. We can't control as much as we think we can. Having faith things will be okay should be easier.

"I also gave myself permission to not know what I wanted," Charlotte said. "In my relationships, in my jobs, in my general life. I just enjoyed what I had and changed the things I didn't enjoy."

I wasn't sure her logic there was wise. It sounded like she had become flighty and unpredictable, which didn't match up with who I wanted her to be.

"Hm..." I frowned, doubtful.

"Don't worry," she giggled, "I was responsible about it. I just freed myself from other people's expectations about what I was supposed to be doing. When someone popped the question, I thought about it before saying no. It wasn't that I wasn't in love. I just didn't want to be married. Marriage is so huge, I couldn't wrap my head around it."

I rolled my eyes in agreement. "I'll say." Marriage is more complicated and overwhelming than I ever thought it would be.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I was about to elaborate, but decided against it. I didn't want my avalanche of thoughts and feelings to spill out and scare Charlotte away. She was nice, and exciting. She had a life I could never have. Hearing about it, even for a few minutes, gave me a sense of experience. Listening to Charlotte's account of her life, I got to imagine what I might have done with my life if I hadn't been with you.

Some people say they don't feel they chose their spouse, that the universe chose for them. But I don't believe that. I may not have chosen to fall in love with you, but deciding to stay with you for the past twenty years was a choice. It was a choice I made every day. Some days were easier than others. Most of the time, I didn't even think about choosing you. But lately, it had been harder and harder to choose you when I knew you weren't choosing me. Hard work and commitment are what make a marriage work. Passion and friendship are just as important, but without the commitment and hard work, passion and friendship become unruly and create a mess.

"What about you?" Charlotte asked. "Are you the person you want to be?"

I bit my lips, considering for a moment before I shook my head. The person I want to be is much braver and more adventurous. Not as adventurous as Charlotte, but someone who doesn't cower in fear at the thought of conflict. Someone who is able to advocate as fiercely for herself as she does for her children. Someone as passionate as you. Maybe if I could be that person, I'd feel like more than just a wife and mother.

"It's never too late for a fresh start," Charlotte said with a wink as she set down her empty coffee cup.

I smiled, but thought that perhaps Charlotte didn't know how hard that would be with children and an unfaithful wife in tow.

As Charlotte and I talked, a song came over the speakers that caught my attention. I hadn't noticed there was even music in the coffee shop, but the pulsing guitar rhythm and Bono's voice slid into my consciousness. I couldn't help but smile.

Charlotte noticed and smiled back before humming the words, "I stiiiiill haven't foooouuund what I'm looking forrrr..."

"A singer, I see," I joked, teasing her about her lack of pitch. I tried to say it with a straight face, but when she laughed and shook her head, I knew she realized I was joking.

She chuckled. "I can't carry a tune to save my life. But I move pretty well."

"Dancer?" I asked.

She gave a happy shrug and nodded. "I feel best when I'm dancing."

I bit my bottom lip, remembering long ago when I used to dance to feel like myself. But then college came and dancing turned to running. After that it was yoga. And after that, it was parenting, which just feels like a workout sometimes.

"I used to be a dancer," I said. "But I don't dance anymore."

Charlotte made a flapping sound with her lips. "That's like saying a bird isn't a bird when it isn't flying."

I gave her a smile of appreciation for her encouragement. "I dance once in awhile with my kids."

"Cute," she said. "You have more than one?"

I was wary of talking about my children, simply because I was trying not to think about everything I had just taken a break from, and trying not to feel guilty about leaving them without explanation. But thinking about dancing with Caleb and Ruby reminded me of happy times.

"Ruby is five and Caleb is seven. And I guess I can still break it down. Ruby's favorite dancing song is _Moves Like Jagger_, which she insists is called _Moves Like Dragon_."

Charlotte shook with laughter.

Suddenly the music got louder and we looked around, surprised. We realized we were the only people in the coffee shop and the lone barista had started putting up chairs. Turning up the music was a hint we were supposed to leave.

Getting our bearings, we realized how late it was and, subsequently, how long we'd been sitting in the coffee shop. I wasn't sure what to do; I didn't want to say goodbye, but we had to leave.

"Want to come have a drink at the bar in my hotel?" Charlotte asked, her face brightening at the idea. "It's just a few blocks away."

My smile widened as I tried to squint at her in playful suspicion.

"That depends," I said. "Are you a hippie?"

Charlotte looked amused and frowned at me. "I don't think so... why?"

"Because Jack Donaghy taught me to never go with a hippie to a second location."

Charlotte rocked forward with a giggle. I smiled at the fact that she recognized the joke.

We braved the December cold as we walked to her hotel, remarking on the beauty of the Christmas lights and the first snowfall that hadn't turned to slush yet. She asked what Santa was bringing Caleb and Ruby and I told her about the giant Lego set and the bicycle I had wrapped the night before. She smiled and thankfully didn't ask what I had gotten my spouse.

When we arrived, we perched on the bar stools and ordered drinks, watching as the bartender flipped bottles and shook the mixer. I realized I hadn't been to a bar in a long time.

"So why didn't you want to go home tonight, if I may ask?" Charlotte said, quirking her eyebrow as she lifted her drink to her lips.

It was only fair she ask me a little about myself; I'd asked so much about her life, eager to experience a fraction of what she had done. She had laid her life open for me, and left the door open for me to do the same. I wanted to tell her the truth. I needed one other person in the world to know what I was carrying.

"My wife's having an affair," I blurted.

Charlotte's face fell and her mouth made a soft _O_. "I'm sorry. I had no idea," she murmured.

I grimaced. I didn't want Charlotte's pity. I didn't want _anyone's_ pity. I wanted to know what to do. For the first time in my life, my gut didn't have an answer.

"I don't know what to do," I said. "I found out a few weeks ago and I can't bring myself to tell her I know."

Charlotte crinkled her mouth, looking sorrowful. "Why not?" she asked, her voice lullaby-gentle, as if I were about to break.

There were so many reasons I hadn't been able to confront you, which is why I was surprised when I said, "I'm afraid of losing her."

Charlotte just watched as my eyes roamed the bar, sorting out what I'd just said.

I'm afraid to lose you. Terrified.

I don't know how to be anything without you because I've never had to be. At least not for long. I shuddered, thinking about those four months without you. They were the longest of my life.

"We met when we were ten," I continued. "We were so in love for so long, and I never imagined my life without her. I don't know how things got so messed up."

"Do you still love her?" Charlotte asked.

I swallowed, trying not to cry. "She's the only person I've ever loved. She made me happy for a long time."

"Does she still make you happy?"

I shook my head, dropping it in sorrow.

"I don't think she ever made you happy," Charlotte murmured.

I glanced up at her, confused by her presumption.

"No one can _make_ you happy," she explained. "Your happiness comes from you." She took a sip of her drink. "You can be happy _with_ someone, but they don't create your happiness."

I blinked, still trying not to cry as I thought about how I wasn't happy with you anymore. "You're the first person I've told," I mumbled. "I don't know what to do."

Charlotte nodded, her eyes glazing over as if she were deep in thought. "I don't think anyone knows what to do in that situation."

I bit my lips and looked down at the napkin under my glass. "Do you think cheating is forgivable?" I asked. "When I was younger, everything was so black and white, and it wasn't forgivable. But now, I don't know."

Charlotte's face reflected deep sadness for me. "I have no idea," she said. "But I know you'll figure it out."

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I wanted someone to tell me what to do.

"I can't imagine moving out or splitting time with our kids..."

There was a moment of quiet as I felt energy come to rest between us. Charlotte was listening and actually hearing me. The dam inside me started to crumble.

"Even if I left, I don't know if I'd feel better. I left her once for a few months before we got married because I thought it would fix something broken inside me, but it didn't. No matter what I do, I always have this sense of being... I don't know, incomplete? Like I'm looking for something and no matter how many changes and adjustments I make, I never quite get there. Once in awhile I'll have a minute or two where I don't feel that way. But most of the time, I feel a little bit empty. Not like I'm depressed or something, just..."

"Searching," Charlotte said.

"Yeah," I breathed, relieved she understood my rambling. "I thought that would stop when I got married, and after that I thought it would stop when I had a baby... or when I got the right job or made the right friends... lost weight or exercised more or something."

"But you never get there," Charlotte said.

"No," I exhaled, shaking my head, "I never do. It's frustrating."

"That's because we think at some point we'll be able to stop working at life. As long as we think that, we're always going to feel incomplete. The secret is to make peace with the fact that you'll always feel incomplete."

I contemplated that for a minute. If I stopped thinking I was going to arrive somewhere, I would never feel lost.

"And if I do... I'll stop feeling incomplete."

"Precisely," she winked.

"I'll try that," I said. "Not thinking I'm incomplete..."

I tried to imagine my life without a sense of urgency to move forward and make it through things. I imagined being able to admit that I was simply tired of the work and wanted a break. I imagined not feeling pressured to constantly fix things. Some things do need to be fixed, of course, but I'm a complete person. I will be no less complete with or without other people or the right job or the right friends. I'll always be me.

"Last call, ladies," the bartender said, patting the bar in front of us.

"Thanks," Charlotte said, giving him a quick smile before turning back to me. She studied my face for a minute, looking sad and warm at the same time.

"Do you want to come up to my room with me?" she asked.

My eyes flickered up, searching hers. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a tentative smile.

Her eyelashes cast the most beautiful pattern on her cheek, an elongated shadow like a row of trees reflected on the far shore of a lake. She gazed into my eyes as if she wanted to wrap me up in her arms and show me how to feel complete.

I wanted to hold onto the young, beautiful feeling she gave me as long as I could.

"Yeah," I breathed. "I do."

As I said it, I realized I wanted to know what she felt like naked beneath me and on top of me and beside me.

She smiled at me, a calm, deep smile that told me she was looking forward to however many hours we could stay awake.

For twenty years, you've been the only person I've touched. Your lips and arms and wetness are as familiar as my own. For twenty years, we've shared fantasies of other people and scenarios we know we'll never have, creating our own vibrant, open place where we sought solace in each other. For twenty years, we've ebbed and flowed in our desire for each other, never thinking the sea would run dry. For twenty years, our bodies belonged to each other. I thought that agreement would last forever.

But now you had broken it. You had shared yourself with someone else while I wilted beside you. If you were no longer quenching me, was I to blame for wanting tenderness from another? Would that be so horrible?

I looked at Charlotte, my eyes falling down her body like water, taking in the curves and lines that were pale and alluring and unfamiliar, taking stock of the adventure I could have.

I wasn't sure if she was offering that. Perhaps all she wanted was to continue our conversation now that the bar was closing. That, too, was something I thirsted for.

But choices are not without consequence and promises are meant to be kept. As long as I'm married to you, I'm going to be faithful. No matter what you do, I don't believe in retaliation.

So though it pained me to do so, I finished my sentence. "... But I need to go home to my wife."

Charlotte's smile wavered, but she nodded as if to say, _Okay, I understand_. She was trying not to look disappointed, but I hoped part of her was glad that I was honoring my commitments. Whenever someone I care about does that, I feel proud for them. I hoped she felt the same for me. Maybe I needed someone else to be proud of me.

I looked around, getting my bearings again. I found my purse strap and pulled the bag into my lap, feeling a vibration against my leg as I did. Fishing out my silenced phone, I saw the screen was covered in notifications of missed calls and texts messages.

_Baby, I'm so sorry I snapped at you, please come home so I can apologize in person._

_Britt, you know this freaks me out. Please come home._

_Britt?_

_Are you okay? Where are you?_

_Sweetie, I know you're mad, but please tell me where you are._

_Seriously, Britt, where are you? I can't sleep not knowing where you are._

_Britt, I'm freaking out. Should I call the police?_

As I read the text messages, I sank, feeling sucked back into the chaos and hurt of our household. I wasn't ready to go back. But I couldn't stay out any longer.

I had made my decision, and it was Ithaca.

I sighed and texted back, _I'm okay. I'm coming home_. I turned back to Charlotte and gave her a deep, earnest look. "I'm sorry."

Charlotte nodded, gaze falling to the bar. "You're a good person, Brittany."

I looked away, flushing. "I'm trying to be."

Charlotte looked away, disappointed at my decision.

I sighed, thinking about how difficult it had been to try to be a good mom, friend, teacher, sister and daughter lately. Those things are exhausting, even without trying to be a good wife.

Quietly, Charlotte asked, "Can I give you my number?"

I gave her a sad smile. I didn't want our conversation to end either. But I knew that if we were to talk or meet again, we would be trying to recreate something that was impossible to duplicate. We would be pursuing something that would never happen again, and we'd feel incomplete. I needed to feel, at least once in my life, like I had a complete experience, without wanting to prolong or re-experience it for days and weeks and years to come. I didn't want to be disappointed by our next conversation.

So I looked at her with an apologetic smile and shook my head. I could have explained why, but I didn't need to. She knew I was married. She knew I had too much going on in my life to take on another relationship, friendship or otherwise. She knew that tonight was our one shot.

She sighed and nodded in resignation. "Well, Brittany," she said, standing up from her bar stool. "It's been a pleasure."

I nodded in agreement. "I'm glad the other Brittany didn't show up."

Charlotte's eyes went wide at the thought of having missed our evening together. "Me too," she murmured.

She extended her hand to me in a gesture of closure. I looked at it, noticing it was unadorned. I took her hand and squeezed, and as I did, I felt something vibrate up my arm and into my spine. I realized throughout the whole night, we hadn't touched once. That single handshake froze me and made me ache, making me regret my choice for a moment. But I couldn't change my mind. She had given me my transformation, and that was all I was supposed to get from her. I could keep that and return to my difficult, painful life knowing I didn't have to search for something to make me feel whole.

She withdrew her hand and flashed me a smile. "Goodnight, Brittany."

"Goodnight, Charlotte."

I watched her leave the bar, and as I did, regret and relief flooded through my body.

I've heard people use the word soulmate to describe the one person you know you want to spend your life with. I've used that word to describe you. But someone once told me that a soulmate is someone who comes into your life, touches you, and leaves you forever altered. We cannot stay with our soulmate because the transformation is so intense, it is not sustainable.

As I watched Charlotte leave the bar, I wondered for a minute if that was true.

* * *

><p>I walked up our walkway and stood in front of the front door for a second. I was about to remove the lid that would unleash all the noise and fury and pain that had been building up for months. But I had to do it at some point if I wanted any chance at returning to that beautiful place we once inhabited. That memory was enough for me. I wanted to get back to it. With my new resolve to be the woman I dreamed of being, I unlocked the door, pressed down on the lever, and pushed.<p>

What awaited me inside was not the chaos I'd left. Rather, it seemed like a battlefield after all the soldiers had left and the dead had been carried away; tufts of grass were still matted and bent, and there were stains where fallen soldiers had been, a few whiffs of smoke still lingering in the air. But other than that, it was motionless. I exhaled, relieved that I'd have a moment of peace before I had to start the endless task of sorting out me and you. But then I spotted you sitting motionless on the couch, eyes locked on the floor. Your face was devoid of expression, your eyes blank and your cheeks colorless. You barely looked like you were breathing. When I closed the door, locking it and setting my purse on the hall table, you didn't move.

I stood still for a minute, waiting to see if you would say anything, but you remained stoic and stiff. One of us had to take the first step, right?

But neither of us did. We just stood there, paralyzed. Finally I sighed and walked up the stairs. Our bed would be just as cold with or without us.

I changed out of my work clothes and put on sweats and an old t-shirt. I washed my face and brushed my teeth and, heavy with anticipatory exhaustion, slid into our bed, curling around myself with the covers drawn up to my chin. I closed my eyes and remained motionless as I heard you in the bedroom behind me, going through the familiar bedtime routine, the same one you'd had for twenty years. I tried not to picture the way you tilted your head as you brushed each side of your mouth, or the face you make when you spit. I tried to block out everything familiar because I didn't want to know if this would be the last time I'd see them. Finally I felt the bed dip with your weight. You were more careful and quiet than usual, curling into yourself, mirroring me as you drew the covers over your shoulders.

We lay silently for a minute before you rolled onto your back behind me, staring up at the ceiling. Then I heard you sniff, accompanied by a shiver that rocked the mattress. Another shiver followed, until the mattress was quivering beneath me. My nerves vibrated, wondering what to do. But I couldn't make myself turn. I couldn't make myself do anything more than lay there, silent and motionless. After a minute of quivering and sniffling, you twisted into me, curling around my body and sliding your arm over my waist, pulling me into the nook of your hips in desperation. You held me there, your hand digging into my stomach and pressing me into you. You kept shaking as you pressed your nose into my back, wiping your tears on my shirt as you started to gasp, trying not to wail as you cried. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry with you.

Tomorrow I would start being the woman I want to be.

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><p><strong>AN: If you don't want to wait until December 30th to find out what happens, you can go to my Tumblr (lingeringlilies dot tumblr dot com) and purchase a completed eBook or hard copy of the Bridget and Natalia version!**


	27. Fracture

**A/N: Merry Christmas, fangirls! I'm uploading this early as a Christmas gift. Thanks to Muriel and JJ for their superb help, and thanks to everyone who supported me by purchasing a copy. Enjoy!**

**There will be one more chapter and an epilogue after this.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 27: Fracture<strong>

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><p>The next morning I awoke to the same eerie silence that had greeted me when I returned home a few hours before. There were no children haggling over cereal or cartoons. There were no sounds at all, actually. I could faintly smell coffee and the lingering smoke from the burned food the night before, and I could feel where your hand had pressed into my stomach as we slept. But other than those ghosts, the house was empty.<p>

I took a shower, feeling the scent of the coffee shop rinsing out of my hair and skin. I was sad to lose that reminder of the night before, but it also felt like I was unveiling myself, becoming the bold woman I wanted to be. When I walked downstairs, you and I were going to talk, and I wasn't going to let myself get scared or let you stay zipped up. I put on clean yoga pants and a sweater and went down to the kitchen.

You were sitting at the table, a cup of coffee sitting in front of you next to a piece of paper. Steam curled up from the cup, which looked untouched. You were drawing on the paper, absent-minded curlicues and lines that danced with your thoughts. Your face was stoic and ashy, your hair pulled into a braid going down your back. You looked like you hadn't slept in weeks.

You saw me hovering in the doorway and blinked a few times, gaze fluttering between me and the paper. You sat with your knees pinched together and shoulders braced. You looked terrified and small.

"Where are the kids?" I asked. Our children have always been the easiest thing for us to talk about and their absence was glaring. Through all the distance we've experienced lately, we haven't lost our ability to parent together. That bodes well for whatever the future holds.

"I took them to Elinor's last night," you said. "Ruby freaked out when you left and Caleb..." You trailed off, not needing to say that my sudden exit had frightened him.

I felt horrible. Not only had I walked out on you, I had walked out on our kids without telling them where I was going or when I'd be back. That must have terrified them. I felt even guiltier for not noticing they weren't home last night.

I imagined you, distracted by your fear and fed up with the mess of our lives, bundling Ruby and Caleb up and loading them into the car with overnight bags, haphazardly packed between the texts you'd sent me. I imagined you arriving at Elinor's house, pale and distracted with worry, thanking her before running back to your car and driving home to wait for me.

"Probably a good idea," I grimaced. "Did you tell her why?"

You shook your head. "I just said it was an emergency."

I exhaled in relief, glad Elinor hadn't been made aware of our fight.

But our children's absence meant there was no excuse for us not to talk, which was frightening. Besides, I had promised myself today was the day I would start being brave.

"Will you tell me where you went?" you asked, swallowing hard.

I looked at the floor. I thought about Charlotte's face and the way she laughed and how, for the first time in months, I felt understood and heard. Whether that was about her or me, I didn't know.

"I went to a coffee shop."

You frowned and swallowed again. "Okay..."

"And then to a hotel bar."

You squeezed your eyes shut and then forced them open. "Was there someone with you?"

I kept my eyes glued on the floor. This conversation was about honesty. The woman who gave me my children and two decades of love deserved all the honesty in the world.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Someone you don't know."

You sat in silence for a minute before you pressed on, your voice shaking.

"A man or a woman?"

I don't know what difference it made. I suppose you'd be more hurt by the idea of me cheating with a man, but it didn't matter, since I hadn't cheated.

"A woman."

Silence.

"Did you..." You let the question hang in the air, unfinished like every conversation we've had the past few months.

I shook my head with certainty. "No."

"Did anything...?"

I shook my head. "She knows I'm married. We just talked."

"Who is she?"

"Someone I met last night. We were both drinking coffee and started talking. That's all that happened."

You seemed to relax a little into your chair.

Talking about Charlotte, even in a roundabout way, reminded me that I was going to start being the woman I want to be, even with the responsibilities I have now. I can take risks. I can handle your anger and betrayal and distance. So I sat down at the table across from you and took a risk.

"I told her that my wife was having an affair and that I wasn't sure how long we would last."

You stiffened.

"You - _what_?"

I swallowed and repeated what I'd said. "I told her that my wife was having an affair and that I wasn't sure how long our marriage would last."

"Britt, you- you think I'm having an _affair_?" you gaped.

I didn't say anything for a minute. You were playing dumb and I hated that you thought I would go along with it. I'm not stupid.

I was done playing the part of the docile, sweet wife who would put up with your vicious moods and betrayals. If there was one thing that would survive this marriage, it was my integrity.

"I saw you with her, Santana. And I saw the text messages. I know you didn't want to hurt my feelings, but... you did."

You were gaping still, eyes darting around the living room like a trapped fly. "Britt, I- you saw me with _who_?"

"With M."

You looked around the room as if this were a joke. Your words were quick and pressured when you spoke. "Mallory is my assistant. My newly-married, _straight_ assistant. I text her constantly."

"What about Ruby's birthday party?"

"What about it?"

"She texted you that day saying you never have time for her anymore. You left your phone on the kitchen counter."

You tilted your head and frowned at me. "She was teasing me about being so busy. We joke around because the only way to get through our jobs is to have a sense of humor."

You were trying to make me feel crazy and I hated it. I've never felt crazier than I have in the past few weeks. No one deserves to be cheated on and then made to feel crazy.

"Don't lie to me, Santana," I mumbled. "I saw you at lunch with a beautiful woman fawning all over you, and it wasn't Mallory."

Your mouth pinched in a "w" as your eyes darted around the room. Finally you gasped. "Where?"

"Luce Enoteca."

Your jaw dropped as you realized I had spied on you. But I didn't care any more. I just wanted to be done with this game.

You brought your hands up to cover your face and inhaled as you realized I'd caught you in a lie. You parted your hands to peek through at me, eyes wide and scared. You slid your hands down until they were covering your mouth, trembling

"Britt," you said, moving your hands, your face pleading as tears started to brim. "Please, please believe me. I _never_ cheated on you. I would ask you for a _divorce_ before I would be unfaithful. And I've never thought about asking for that."

"Never?" I challenged, pointing out the unlikelihood of you never contemplating living separate lives.

You tipped your head and rolled your eyes, admitting it would be ridiculous to never contemplate in eight years. "Only for a second when I was mad. But never _seriously_."

I stared at you, challenging you. You inhaled as your tears started to spill over.

"Britt, I _promise_." You were shaking all over. "The woman you saw me with is one of DPC's corporate partners. I didn't cheat with her or anyone else. I would never-" you choked, "I could never do that to you. Or to the kids," you said, eyes flickering to the ceiling that lay beneath their rooms.

My eyes bored through you. You were still lying to me. Business lunches don't include adoring stares and caressing hands.

Your eyes met mine, your imploring look persistent as tears started sliding down your face. "I don't know what you saw that made you think I'm _cheating_ on you, but I promise I didn't. Emily was supporting me with some work stuff."

I stared and waited for you to cave and admit you were lying.

But then you added, in almost a whisper, "And stuff about my mom."

That threw me. You were talking with Emily about your mom? Why? You wouldn't talk to anyone about your mom, not even me. Whenever I mentioned her, you shuttered up and withdrew from me.

"Why?" I asked. "Why her?"

Your eyes roamed the floor. "She lost her mom a few years ago. She gets it."

I wanted to retort _And I don't?_, but I stopped myself. I knew there was a grain of truth to that. I haven't lost my mom, and maybe I don't get it.

But I was still mad at you for lying to me.

"So why did you go away for the weekend with her?" I asked, crossing my arms. Now that I was confronting you, all my anger and shame from the past few months came bubbling up. I started to choke on my own tears. "Why were you erasing all the texts you sent her? And why - why don't you ever want to have sex with me?" I said, my voice catching.

You started shaking as your face twisted and crinkled with fear and shame. "A weekend? _What_ weekend?"

"You went to Cincinnati _'on business_,'" I said with air quotes before wiping my face.

You shook your head back and forth for a long time. "Emily didn't go to Cincinnati."

"Santana, I saw the text messages," I said, frustrated.

"_What_ text messages?" you asked, frantic. "I've only seen Emily twice in my life! Once for a business meeting and that one time at Luce Enoteca." You fumbled around for your phone and held it out to me. "Call her! She'll tell you the truth!"

You were starting to hyperventilate, putting your hand to your chest and clutching your stomach. You only do that when you're really upset. I started to wonder if maybe you were telling the truth. But there were too many things you would have to explain. I eyed the phone where you'd placed it between us on the table.

"How do I know she'll tell me the truth?" I asked.

You held up your hands, waving them towards the phone, distraught and unsure what to do. "Read my text messages! Check my email! Call everyone in my contacts and ask them! Do whatever you need to do to believe me!"

That startled me. You wouldn't offer me that kind of control if you were hiding something. I contemplated the phone in my hands, trying to see if all the pieces in the M puzzle could fit together another way. As I did, I wondered if maybe I'd been so lost in my insecurities that I'd distorted everything around me to fit my own elaborate nightmare. The corners of my vision darkened as I felt an avalanche start to rock my mind.

"I don't..." I started, losing my nerve mid-sentence. "I don't want to do that."

Your voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "What do I need to do for you to believe me?"

I was starting to feel panicked and dizzy. Had I concocted an entire affair in my head? Had I cast you as the traitor when all along it had been me?

One thing still nagged at me, holding the rumbling at bay. "Why did you delete text messages between you and Emily?"

"_What_ text messages?" you asked, frantic.

"You were texting her all the time."

"No I wasn't!" you protested, crying harder.

You picked up your phone, pressed a few buttons and then held the phone up to me.

As soon as I saw the screen, everything came crashing down.

The text message confirming your lunch wasn't from M, it was from E.M.

Had I not noticed the contact name was different than the rest? Did my brain scramble the letter and its pronunciation? Had I completely lost it?

Horrified at my mistake, I read the messages listed under E.M. Added to the single line confirming the lunch was a message sent the next day. _Luce was delish! I should take clients there. Let me know how things go with the rep from Abercrombie. XOXO, E.M_. Your response, sent an hour later, was _Thx, will do! SLP_

Was it possible that Emily M. was just someone who signed all her texts with XOXO? Your response was convincingly professional. But it also could have been staged to look that way.

"How do I know you didn't delete all the other messages?" I asked, desperate to believe I wasn't crazy.

"There _were_ no other messages," you said, growing frustrated. "I haven't talked to her since that afternoon, in text or email or anything, I promise! You can pull up our wireless bill and check! I'm not having an affair and I never was!"

Seeing your desperate efforts to clear your name, I felt shame pushing into my chest, heavy and oppressive. Your distance had caused me to create a lie that defied everything I know about your character and integrity. No matter how far away you got, I shouldn't have reacted so dramatically.

I had to find something you had done wrong so I wouldn't feel so awful.

"Why didn't you tell me you were talking to someone about your mom?" I mumbled.

You bit your lips as you started to cry harder, looking at the ceiling in despair. "I knew you'd be upset if you thought I was talking to someone else about it and it just- it seemed easier because I didn't want to make you mad - but that was stupid. I shouldn't have done that." You shook, taking heaving breaths for a few minutes as you pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes. "I thought maybe if I could just keep my stuff with my mom separate from everything else that I - that I care about," you swallowed, trying to clear your throat, "that it wouldn't hurt so much."

That admission hurt me in so many ways. That you hadn't felt you could talk to me about your mom was one thing, but the fact that, even after twenty years together, you still want to compartmentalize things away from our relationship meant I hadn't been as perceptive as I thought. Marriage means sharing our lives. Not every breath or meal or conversation or dream. But the big things - _especially_ the things that hurt - are what we vowed to share together.

Another part of me hurt because I realized how broken and sad you still were over your mom's death. I had been too scared to see it.

"Oh my God, Britt. You thought I was having an-" you coughed, but it sounded like a gag, "_affair_? Is _that_ why you've been acting so strange?"

I bit my lips and tried to avoid eye contact. I was so ashamed. If you were telling the truth, I was the biggest fool in the world for creating such a dramatic explanation for your distance.

"Britt," you swallowed, eyes growing wide over glistening tear tracks, "were you thinking of leaving me?"

I didn't know what to say. Of course I'd thought about it. But I'd been in a deluded state, thinking you had fallen out of love with me and run into someone else's arms. Now your love was cascading down your face and I didn't know what to think or say. So I shrugged, avoiding the question.

At that you curled over yourself, bawling into your hands. It was the most broken I'd seen you since the night of your mom's funeral. You sobbed and sobbed until I realized your sobs had morphed into words.

"_Don't leave me, Britt... please don't leave me. Please, please..._" You reached out and grabbed my hands, trying to pull me closer to you across the table. "_I promise I wasn't cheating on you, I would never cheat on you, I'm just stupid sometimes..._"

A horrible, sickening guilt filled my stomach and chest. It was my fault you were so upset; if I'd had the brains to ask you about M earlier, this wouldn't have happened. I started to feel ill as I realized I was just as responsible for our problems as you were.

"Britt, please give me a chance to fix things!" you begged. "Please, I know I've been hard to live with, but you have to give me a chance to fix it!"

Your desperation was melting my resolve to stand strong and impenetrable while I confronted you. Because despite my best efforts, I still love you. Love melts even the strongest resolve.

As you dropped your head into your hands and shook, I stood up and walked around the table and knelt before you.

"Hey," I murmured, putting my hands on your shoulders to stop you from shaking. "I'm here."

You kept crying as I rubbed your arms in an attempt to soothe you. I didn't want to say I wouldn't leave you, because if we couldn't fix our marriage, I didn't know what I'd decide. But seeing you break made me want to try as hard as I could to avoid it.

"I'm here now," I repeated. "I'm here."

"Will you _stay_ here?" you asked, your desperation weakening with exhaustion.

I nodded, looking earnestly into your watery, puffy eyes. "I'll stay until neither of us wants to keep trying."

You exhaled, leaning into me, hands still in your lap. "I will _always_ want to keep trying."

My hand hesitantly threaded through your hair, drawing your head to my shoulder. There was a moment of quiet as you settled against me, the room empty after being filled with your cries.

"I want it to be easier."

I hummed in agreement. "Promise me something," I murmured.

"Anything," you said immediately.

I drew back to look you in the eyes. "Promise me that tomorrow you won't go back to being cold and unavailable like you did the day after the funeral."

You looked away in shame and wiped your face, nodding. "I'm sorry." You sniffled for a minute. "Promise me you'll tell me if something makes you uncomfortable?"

I wasn't sure what you meant, and it must have shown on my face.

"I mean, something you see on my phone or a conversation you hear or something I do that feels off. I can't read your mind."

I nodded, but knew it was easier said than done. Lots of things make me uncomfortable, but not because I feel threatened. I'm just a sensitive person. "I'll try."

"What are we going to do, Britt?" you asked, your voice broken.

I looked at your face and felt as heartbroken as you looked. For the first time in a long time, your words and feelings and actions were matching up. It's easy to melt into you when that happens.

"I don't know," I said, giving a sad shrug. Maybe if I'd had time to think about anything besides your imaginary affair, I would have come up with something by now.

"Do you think," you swallowed, "Do you think we could just get through Christmas and then talk about everything?"

I paused. Your suggestion made logical sense; two days before Christmas is not the time to make changes or take on a big project. But the biggest problem in our marriage, aside from my stupidity and your detachment, was that we kept putting everything else ahead of our marriage. We were always on hold while we dealt with kids and careers and family and friends.

Channeling the woman I want to be, I shook my head. "We've been putting this off for other things for too long."

You bit your lips and nodded, leaning back and looking at your coffee. "I'm sorry," you murmured, shame muting your words. "You're right."

You looked around the kitchen, at a loss for how to move forward.

"I need to shower," you mumbled. "Can we take half an hour break and then talk?"

"About?"

You shrugged. "I don't have any answers. But trying to figure this out separately won't work."

"Okay," I said.

You sat motionless for a few seconds before you asked in your smallest, most scared voice, "Do you still love me?"

Scared, but determined, I looked you in the eye and nodded.

You gave me a hesitant smile as you gasped in relief. After a second you placed your palms on the table and got up as if you were afraid you'd knock the table over. "Okay. I'll be back," you murmured.

For the next half hour I sat at the table and thought. I thought about what an idiot I'd been, and how terrifying it was that I almost gave up on us. And I thought about how sad it was that we got sucked into this mess in the first place. Work and kids and cancer and crashed cars don't seem like enough to drive such a wedge between two people who've promised to spend their lives together.

I don't usually drink coffee because it makes me anxious, but I was so tired, I poured myself a small cup and added lots of milk and sugar. The taste reminded me of the coffee shop the night before.

I thought about all the things I'd shared with Charlotte and realized I needed to share them with you. The woman I want to be would share everything if it could save her marriage. The woman I want to be would spend her life trying to return to Ithaca.

When you came back to the table, you looked refreshed, but no less tired or scared. You sat in your chair again and looked at me nervously. We were both unsure how to start.

I didn't know how to start the conversation without placing the blame on one of us. I felt like everything had been my fault, even if logically I knew that wasn't true.

"What happened to us?" I asked.

You thought for a long, heavy minute before you leaned forward, bracing your forehead with your hands as you stared down into your coffee cup.

"I guess... I feel guilty even thinking this, because I love them so much and it's not their fault," you stressed, "but I never realized how much having kids would change things."

I moved my hand forward on the table, urging you to continue and letting you know you weren't a bad person for thinking that. I think it all the time, and it doesn't negate how much I love our children. I love them with every fiber of my being. But I also love you. I don't want to sacrifice one for the other, but having both seems impossible sometimes.

"I didn't understand that it would be _all the time_," you said, your eyes widening at the overwhelming reality of parenting.

"I didn't know either," I said in sympathy.

"I don't regret it," you said, looking up to reassure me. "I could never regret Caleb and Ruby. But I regret..." you paused, motioning between us, "this."

I was hesitant. Were you saying you regretted committing to each other? Did you regret promising to spend your life with me? Or something else?

My apprehension must have shown on my face, because you quickly explained yourself. "Losing our closeness," you said. "I regret that we don't have time to be so in love any more."

I bit my lips, studying the grain of the table between your elbows. It's true that having kids had made our lives busier and more stressful than we imagined. We had no idea that even after the kids were asleep, we'd be worried about them in some way; if they were making friends, if they were doing well in school, if they were getting sick, if they felt good about themselves. But that wasn't the only reason we'd drifted apart. Your job and your mom's death and my insecurity all played a part.

I always assumed people could stay in love their whole lives. My parents are still in love, and I know your dad is still in love with your mom, even though she's gone. But it's a lot harder to stay in love than I expected. We hadn't been acting like we were in love for a long time. It was scary and painful to think about falling out of love with you, but the woman I want to be talks about scary and painful things.

"Are we still in love?" I asked, not surprised by the timidity and hesitation with which the words came out.

I glanced up at you and saw heartbreak on your face. "_I_ am," you said sincerely.

I nodded, wondering what to say. Saying _I love you_ with as much vulnerability as you had was too scary for me in that moment. But I was trying to be brave. And so, because it's true, I murmured, "Me too."

At that, both of us relaxed into our chairs. I had more hope for us than I had started out with.

"I think I just forgot how to show you," you said.

I nodded, realizing that's how I felt too. Loving you and showing you I love you are different things, and they aren't always easy or fun.

"I think I forgot too," I admitted. I couldn't look you in the eye as I spoke, but when I saw your hand reach for mine where it lay on the table, I felt relief. You were making me feel okay about not being able to show you love. It was something we were both struggling with.

"Let's remember," you said, squeezing my hand.

I swallowed, my throat feeling tight at your suggestion. I wanted to remember how to be in love so badly it hurt. I wanted to remember what we used to feel like before we had so many responsibilities and obligations. And most of all, I didn't want our marriage to feel like one of those obligations.

I imagined waking up tomorrow in your arms, happy to be there and smiling as you nuzzled my shoulder. It was something we had done so many mornings before we had kids. I wanted to feel that easy joy with you again.

"Okay," I said, hearing my voice catch.

At my response, you leaned forward and took my face in your hands. Your eyes were sparkling with tears too, relieved and scared and mournful for all the hurt that had come between us.

"How do we remember?" you asked.

I had no answers. If I truly knew how to love, most of our recent hurt wouldn't have happened. Misunderstandings happen to everyone, but we wouldn't have gotten so off track. Although I was working to be a braver, more adventurous woman, I also wanted to get back to being the sweet, uninhibited girl who loved you without reservation since the day we met. If I could be both of those things, I would feel worthy of your love again.

One thing I have now that I didn't have then is twenty years of memories and promises and moments like this, etched into my memory, tightening the bond we share. I have tears and jokes and snapshots in my mind from two decades of love. Those scrapbooks are more important than the bills and miscommunications and hurt. Maybe they're not as heavy, but they are brighter and more beautiful.

So many of the things that make me feel close to you are about our children. Our love is not dependent on them, but they bind us together and, clearly, challenge us. Thinking about them made me realize that I wish I could love with as much passion and force as our daughter does. She is enthusiastic and vocal and not afraid to stand up for people she loves. I'm more contemplative, gentle, and reserved like Caleb, and Ruby has things to teach me. Our children are an amalgamation of the two of us.

"We have a lot of love to draw from," I pointed out.

You smiled finally, a watery but genuine smile.

"I felt most loved when you made me wait to get married so it would be legal. And when you cried when we met Caleb. And when you offered to carry Ruby."

Your smile widened. "I felt most loved when you proposed out of nowhere. And every time you surprised me in Columbus. And every time I see you doing Ruby's hair."

I let out a gasping giggle, my tears still fresh. "Really?"

"Mm-hm."

I nodded, looking down at the table. "I'll keep doing that, then."

"Good," you said, squeezing my hand.

I thought about the day-to-day of our household and the things that were hardest for me not to have. Your attention was the most obvious one. So many days you come home from work, and as soon as the kids are in bed, you go right back to work in your office.

"I think it would help me feel loved if I got a few minutes of your time every night. Just to talk about my day or cuddle or something. I know you have a lot of work, but I like to check in."

"Okay," you said. "I can give you a few minutes. More than a few minutes, on some nights," you said with a hopeful smile.

I paused, hesitant to ask for more after I'd messed up our marriage so much. "I know you like to keep work and family separate – and I'm _so_ sorry for that Mission: America disaster –" I said, dropping my head into my hands, remembering yet another thing I'd done wrong recently.

"It's okay," you murmured, "you didn't mean to."

I nodded solemnly, because I would never throw you under the bus like that. "You work really hard for our family and for your employees, and I have so much admiration for that. I know you like to keep work separate, but… it's such a big part of your life, I want to know more about it. Even if I don't understand."

You nodded. "I can include you more." After a pause, you said, "Would you be willing to throw in one of your massages while I talk once in a while?"

I gave you a shy smile and nodded, thinking about straddling you on our bed as you groaned while I dug my knuckles into your back.

Feeling like we at least had a plan to start reconnecting, I ventured into scarier territory.

"What about the stuff that _isn't_ working?" I said. "Obviously me being crazypants suspicious didn't do us any good…" I muttered. "Do you think we could tell each other things we want to change?"

You bit your lip in thought and nodded.

"You first."

You sighed. "I knew you were gonna make me go first," you said, trying to smile.

"Okay... I guess not understanding why you were so upset. Or, I don't know... not having all the information. Feeling like a bad wife because I couldn't read your mind."

I sat and watched your eyes scan the table as you thought. You were trying to find words for the feelings that have been hard for us to talk about for months. Some feelings can't be put into words, but trying is better than not.

I nodded, just to show you I was listening, but other than that, I didn't move. I tried to quiet my thoughts so I could keep listening.

"Not talking about why we weren't having sex wasn't good."

I bit my lip to stop myself from saying _no kidding_ and kept nodding.

"I think I need more time to think before I have more to say."

I quickened my nods, tying off your turn. "Okay."

"Your turn," you said, relieved to pass the torch.

I swallowed. Listening is easy. Talking is hard.

"Not having sex is a big problem for me," I said, starting with the most tangible thing. "Not the biggest problem. But it made me feel really insecure. I know we're not always going to be in the mood, but if we're not going to have sex, I need to know why."

You swallowed and nodded. "I can do that," you said.

"But the biggest problem is that I can't read minds either. You were hot and cold and all over the place since your mom died. Which, you know, I kinda get. I haven't lost my mom, but I've been all over the place a few times. When I saw you confiding in Mallory and… Emily," I said, tripping over her name, "I started feeling replaced."

You bit your lips and looked down, your expression a mixture of shame and frustration.

"It's okay if you want to get support from someone else," I said, making my voice softer so you knew I was telling the truth. "But I want to know about it so I don't worry so much."

You nodded. "I can do that."

"Okay," I murmured. "Good."

There was a moment of silence as we let our agreements settle into us. But there were still big things I knew I needed to say.

"I lost some trust in you the past few months. You kinda… left."

You tucked your chin down and looked to the side, exhaling as you said, "I know, I'm sorry..."

I studied the remorse on your face. But then something flickered across it. You pursed your lips for a second before you said, "I know what that's like. Every time you walk out the door..."

Now it was my turn to look down, ashamed. Three times now in our relationship I've walked out the door without explanation, and every time I do, you get scared I've left for good. Three times now I've hit your most sensitive nerve without meaning to and watched you reel back in pain.

Admitting I'd done so much wrong all at once was hard. I'd vilified you, withdrawn from you, and walked out on you in the space of a few weeks. Beginning the long process of apologizing was hard.

"I'm really sorry I walked out," I said. "I know that's your biggest trigger and I shouldn't have done that."

You tipped your head towards your shoulder, scratching your thumb against your empty coffee cup as you tried to make light of the pain I'd caused you. "I shouldn't have snapped at you the way I did."

"Even so," I said. "Last time it happened I promised not to do it again, and I did. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. If I need a break, I'll go to another room."

I took a breath, steeling myself to continue apologizing for all I'd done wrong.

"And I'm sorry for not asking you who M was. That was really stupid of me."

You nodded, not in agreement, but in acceptance of my apology, still not meeting my eyes.

"So… how do we start trusting each other again?" you asked hesitantly.

I shrugged, sad that I had no idea where to start.

You sat for a moment, your mouth twisting from side to side before you spoke. "How about we have a new policy?"

I was relieved that you had an idea.

You nudged your phone across the table.

"You have full access to my emails, text messages, Facebook, everything. Whenever you want."

I blinked and looked back and forth between you to the phone.

"And I have access to yours."

My eyes widened. It's frightening how much our phones become part of us, to the point where allowing someone full access feels like letting that person see you naked.

"I know it sounds extreme. But when Caleb and Ruby are old enough for phones and computers, don't you want to know what they're doing? Or at least have the option?"

"Of course," I said without hesitating.

"If we do it, it will be normal to them."

Thinking about it that way made sense. But it was a big deal to give you full access to my phone, and I wasn't the one that had been sending text messages to mystery contacts. I didn't know if I wanted to just hand over my phone whenever you asked.

"All the time? No questions asked?"

You nodded and I was horrified. It seemed like a recipe for disaster, feeling I had no personal space. I started to shake my head in refusal.

Then I thought about _why_ you were suggesting it. You knew you'd weakened my trust by using your phone to communicate with people I don't know, even if the content of the messages had been harmless. Now you were offering to let me see any and all communications, with the hope that you could earn back the trust you'd lost. So while your plan had the potential to backfire and make us obsessively suspicious and question every text or email we saw, I knew that was a risk you were willing to take to earn back my trust.

You could see the hesitation on my face. "I know it's a lot, and maybe it will backfire. But I don't want you to ever think I'm hiding something from you."

Although I was uncertain and doubtful it would work, I nudged my phone across the table to you in agreement.

"Do you want to talk to Emily?" you offered, timid.

I thought for a minute. It would help me feel better about moving forward if I talked to her, getting that last confirmation you were the woman I married. But if I were to talk to Emily, it would only be fair to let you talk to Charlotte. Barring the fact that I had no way of getting in touch with Charlotte, she was an experience I wanted to keep for myself. As long as you were faithful to me, I couldn't deny you the same.

"No," I said. "I believe you."

You exhaled in relief, but said, "Let me know if you change your mind."

"Okay," I said, knowing I wouldn't.

Needing to break the tension, I gave you a playful smile and tapped your phone with my finger. "Am I going to find anything interesting on there?"

"'Fraid not." You returned my playful smile for a second, but then it faded. "Well, actually..." You sighed. "There might be a few emails on there between me and Mallory about your Christmas present. I wanted to surprise you with something, but you didn't want to be around me, so I didn't do it. "

"Do what?"

You glanced down at the floor before looking back at me. "I wanted to take you away for a weekend so we could have some time together. But you never wanted to be alone with me, so..."

I bit my lip, looking around to avoid your gaze.

"I know it's because I'm so hard to be around right now," you said. "But recently when I wanted to talk and be close to you, you seemed repelled by me." You grimaced.

I felt so guilty. My withdrawal from you had been under the false belief you were sharing yourself with another woman. Being around you when you're unavailable makes me retreat into myself in any situation, but knowing you'd been faithful gave me courage to try to be closer.

"I'm not repelled by you, Santana," I soothed. "It was just... too hard. You didn't want to be around me for awhile either."

You nodded, looking down in your lap. "I'm sorry."

There was a pause as I took stock of your brokenness. Everything about you was remorseful: your face, your voice, the way your body sagged with guilt. Even if I felt some validation for my hurt over the past few months, it was hard to look at.

"Where were you thinking of going?" I asked, wanting to lighten your remorse.

You shrugged, exhausted. "I don't know. I didn't make any definite plans."

I thought about how it must have felt when I rejected your offer to spend time together, and I felt even worse.

"We should do it," I said.

You looked up at me, a glimmer of hope in your eyes. "Okay. For our anniversary?"

I shrugged. "Whenever we have time."

You played with the hem of your shirt in your lap. "I have some time next weekend," you said shyly.

"New Years?"

You nodded. "I can see if Elinor and Danielle will take the kids."

"My parents can probably take them," I said. "Elinor and Danielle have their hands full."

You gave a limp shrug. "I feel bad relying on your parents all the time," you mumbled.

"Don't feel bad," I said. "They love our kids."

You nodded, not meeting my eyes. There was a moment of silence.

"That's the hardest thing for me right now," you said, your voice tiny and scared.

"Our kids?"

You shook your head. "Your parents."

I paused, unsure what you meant. I waited for you to continue.

"I love your parents, Britt," you said with a sad smile. "But it's hard not to be jealous. Especially when I see you spending more time with your mom lately."

"You have a good relationship with your dad," I pointed out.

"I know," you said with a dismissive tilt of your head. "But he's never going to be up for taking the kids for a weekend. And my mom..." You trailed off, shrinking into yourself, then you continued quietly, "I'm struggling to accept that I'll never sort out all our shit. It's _done_. I know you want to be there for me about it, but I – I really don't think you understand."

There was a pause.

"I'm not trying to push you away by saying that," you said, quick to reassure me. "But I don't think you can imagine how much it would hurt if your mom didn't love Caleb or think of me as your wife. And now that's _never_ going to change for me, because she's gone."

I let the thought sink in, picturing for a moment my own mother in the place of yours, passing over Caleb while showering Ruby with gifts and attention and ignoring you and our marriage. My family has always been as loving and loud as Ruby, and it was impossible to imagine how heartbroken I would feel if my parents didn't love both our children or recognize you as my wife. Even the image of my mother turning away from Caleb for a minute made my chest hurt.

"You're right," I said. "I can't imagine it. But... I don't know what to do about it."

You gave me a sad smile. "I don't think there's anything we _can_ do," you said regretfully. "Not every problem has a solution."

I nodded, saddened by the reality that there was a part of you I wouldn't be able to understand, and a problem that couldn't be fixed.

You straightened up, ready to move on to a lighter topic.

"Where should we go?" you asked. "Where shall we take our first vacation alone since we had kids?"

"The beach," I said instantly.

"It's December." You frowned.

I shrugged. "The rentals will be cheap."

You gave me a warm, resolved smile. "Wherever you want, Britt."

We sat at the table, letting the peacefulness of our decisions settle our frayed nerves. It was silent throughout the house. And even though they suck all my energy some days, I missed our kids. I'd hadn't seen them for more than a few minutes in almost two days.

"We should probably pick up the kids," I said. "I don't want to impose on Elinor two days before Christmas."

"Want me to go?" you offered.

I contemplated it. In truth, I wanted to stay home and take a nap, but the kids needed reassurance that things were okay. Things weren't perfect, but they were better than they had been for a long time. Part of getting close to each other again was acting close again.

"We should go together," I said.

You gave me a quick nod of agreement. "Okay." You paused. "Then what?"

"We should do something to show them everything's okay. Something Christmassy."

"Ice-skating?"

I screwed up my face in objection. I was too tired to go ice-skating. "Something low-key."

"Cookies and _It's A Wonderful Life_?" you offered.

I smiled. "Definitely cookies, but that movie would probably scare Caleb," I said. "When no one recognizes George, he would get upset."

"You're right," you said, smiling at the sensitivity of our son.

There was a moment of quiet that felt warmer than the rest. It felt good to be collaborating with you like this.

"_Muppets Christmas Special_," you said, a sly smile creeping over your face.

My face broke into a grin. "Perfect."

We put our coats on and gathered our purses. You gestured to me with your keys. "Want to drive?" you offered.

I smiled and nodded.

* * *

><p>When we pulled up in the curb sludge at Elinor's house, I could see Caleb's anxious face pressed against the window.<p>

"Poor baby," you muttered.

My heart sank, seeing how upset he was. "He probably didn't sleep," I added.

You nodded and squeezed my hand as you said, "Let's do this."

We walked up the path and before we rang the bell, the door flew open and Ruby came barreling towards us, still in her pajamas.

"Mom-ny, Mama, Mom-ny, Mama!" she shrieked, wrapping her arms around one of our legs each, smushing us closer together. She didn't seem anxious at all. She seemed like she'd had too many cookies.

"Hey, Roo," you cooed. "How was your sleepover with Andrew and Eliza and Auntie Elinor and Auntie Danielle?"

"So fun!" Ruby crowed. "We made cocoa and they showed us how to roast _marshmallows_ in their fireplace! Real marshmallows, like from camping!"

You giggled at her exuberance.

"And then we read stories and played checkers and _I won_!"

"You didn't win, you made up rules so you would win," Caleb said, correcting Ruby from the doorway.

I looked at our son, also still in his pajamas, and watched as he studied us. When he saw my hand clasped in yours, he seemed to relax a little bit.

We thanked Elinor and Danielle and took the kids home, not bothering to change them out of their pajamas before we gathered in the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients for cookies. Ruby's eyes widened in excitement at the prospect of more cookies, and she did a little vibrating dance with her feet when we took the chocolate chips out of the high cabinet. You had to laugh at that.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet and warm. As the smell of butter and chocolate wafted through the house from the oven, the four of us curled up on the couch under blankets to watch the Muppets. After I had pulled the last batch of cookies out and settled on the couch for good, you threaded your hand through mine and squeezed, pulling Caleb closer into your side as Ruby buried her head in my lap. Even if it felt a little forced for the sake of the kids, it was reassuring.

* * *

><p>"Mom-ny?" Caleb asked as I tucked the covers up around his chin on Christmas Eve. He sounded younger than seven.<p>

"Yeah?"

"Are you and Mama still sad at each other?"

My heart hurt at the reminder of how perceptive our boy is. All along I'd thought we were mad at each other, but he was right. We were sad at each other.

"We're talking about our sad. That's making it go away," I told him.

Caleb nodded, his chin brushing the covers. "If you see Santa, can you tell him I want him to take away some of the sad for you?"

I shut my eyes to keep myself from crying at the sweetness of our son. "I'll tell him," I said, kissing Caleb on the forehead.

When I went downstairs, you were in the kitchen, holding a box of baking soda and frowning into Ruby's art cabinet. When you saw me, you gave me a nervous, sad smile. I walked and stood next to you, watching you as you stared into the cabinet.

"Does she have any white glitter?"

I put my hand gently on your back and turned to look at the sparkly chaos. After a moment, you found a container of white glitter. "This'll work." You took a piece of construction paper and pair of scissors and moved away from me, sitting down at the table.

Hovering behind you, curious, I watched as you traced the outline of a boot print on the paper. Remembering my offer to give you a massage once in a while, I lifted my hands from the back of your chair and rubbed your shoulders, watching as you cut out the heel and sole. I felt you relax into my hands.

When you were done, you held it up to the light, satisfied with your work.

"Now we mix the baking soda and glitter together and make footprints coming out of the fireplace towards the tree," you said. "It looks like Santa didn't wipe his boots before coming down the chimney."

I smiled at you, happy to be included in your project. "Ruby will die of excitement," I said, imagining her eyes going wide in wonder when she came downstairs in the morning.

But as you mixed the glitter and baking soda together in a bowl, you didn't smile. In fact, as you leaned down to get the flour sifter from the cupboard, I saw you wipe your face. Steeling yourself before I could read your expression, you gestured with your head towards the living room, beckoning me to follow.

I held the stencil against the brick and then the carpet as you sifted footprints onto the floor, imagining our children's faces when they came downstairs and saw the footprints leading to the tree where we'd piled their presents. My chest should have felt tight with joy, but instead I was solemn. Something about this new ritual had struck a nerve with you, and although it made you sad, you felt compelled to do it.

When we only had one footprint left to sift, you said in a shaky whisper, "My mom used to do this."

Drawing one hand away from where I held the stencil, I cupped your chin, coaxing your gaze to meet mine. You looked so beautiful, your brimming tears illuminated by the white lights of the tree. Without saying anything, I pressed my lips to yours. You shivered and your lips stayed frozen against mine, but when I drew away, you looked grateful. You took a few shaky breaths before you mustered a watery smile.

"Merry Christmas, Britt," you whispered.

I gave you a sad, tender smile in return. "Merry Christmas, Santana."


	28. Wintersong

A/N: I figured it would be nice to post the Christmas section on Christmas day. There's still another chapter (short, since this was originally part of it) and an epilogue.

May you all have a very peaceful, joyous day filled with good food and people you love.

* * *

><p>Chapter 28: Wintersong<p>

* * *

><p>The next morning we were awoken by a delighted squeal as Ruby discovered the footprints we had made. It was still dark outside; my eyes felt crispy and sore from lack of sleep, but the joy of knowing what awaited us downstairs propped me up. I gathered my robe and put on slippers, tying my hair up in a messy bun. You moved beside me, quiet and withdrawn and tired.<p>

When we got downstairs, Ruby was shivering with excitement, shaking packages as Caleb tried to get her to set them down, reminding her they might be fragile. You made coffee while I put cinnamon rolls in the oven and took a plate of sliced fruit out of the fridge. The children bounced around in the living room, making guesses about what was inside the packages. I heard you chuckle as Ruby pointed to what must have been her new bicycle and said, "I bet it's a guitar!"

As the cinnamon buns baked, we sat on the couch with our feet curled under us. I watched you, your hands on your coffee cup, lips spreading and moving as you smiled and watched our children open their stockings. Ruby squealed over the earrings you got her and put on all the costume jewelry I'd found at a rummage sale. Caleb started examining the carpet with his new magnifying glass and spy notebook as you gave me an approving wink, sipping from your coffee mug. That little flick of your eyelid felt like a hug.

After breakfast, we settled back onto the couch to watch our children open the rest of their gifts. We reminded them that they had to take turns, and Caleb suggested we open presents in order from youngest to oldest. Caleb and Ruby had far more gifts under the tree than you or I did, but you complimented his idea and gestured for Ruby to select her first gift.

After Ruby unwrapped her bicycle and took an inaugural ride around the living room while incessantly ringing the bell, Caleb opened his battleship Lego set and began constructing it. I knew we were in for a long day of presents. The fact that our children take time to play with each gift before tearing into the next one makes me feel like we've taught them gratitude. Feeling like we've been good parents makes me feel closer to you.

You reached under the tree and pulled out a purple envelope I hadn't seen the night before. My name was written on the front and you gave me a sheepish smile as you placed it on my lap. Caleb and Ruby were still engrossed in their toys as I slid my finger under the flap, tearing it open.

Inside was a folded piece of paper that said _For our second honeymoon_. I unfolded it and saw it was a reservation for a cabin on Lake Eerie for the following weekend.

My mouth fell open. We had talked about going away for New Years, but we hadn't made any plans.

"Only if you want," you mumbled with a timid shrug. "I know you wanted to go to the beach, so if you want to go to Florida or something for our anniversary, we can wait."

I looked up at you, beaming as I shook my head. "We promised not to put things off," I said. "Lake Eerie is still a beach. A frozen beach."

You gave me a shy smile in return. I looked at you, seeing how much you wanted to get back to where we had been, and felt myself crack open a little more. Suddenly I felt guilty about the leather jacket I'd wrapped and stuck under the tree the day before. It was less than I wanted to give you.

Getting up, I said, "I left your present upstairs."

Ever attuned to our conversations, Ruby said, "Can I open my next one while we wait?"

"Sure, Roo," you smiled. "Although that bike might need a few more rounds around the couch to make sure Santa gave you the right one."

"He did!" Ruby declared with an elated smile, ringing the bell. "He gave me the best bike in the whole elf shop!"

I scurried upstairs, hoping you'd forgive my lack of planning.

Rooting through our closet, I found something I hoped you hadn't seen in a long time. I found a piece of paper and wrote four words on it before dashing into the guest room where we'd set up a wrapping station. I pulled a roll of silver paper out and folded it around the book, trying to make the creases neat and even and intentional. After I'd put the last piece of tape on, I found a bow that wasn't too shabby and placed it on top. Stilling my limbs as I walked down the stairs, I tried to pretend I hadn't just thought of your gift now.

Ruby had moved on to setting up her new pink tea set while Caleb poured over a beginning cartography book. You beamed down at them, chest swelling with pride. It's not hard to be proud of our children, is it?

I slid back onto the couch, placing the freshly wrapped package in your lap. You didn't ask questions, just gave me a smile of appreciation as you took off the bow and slipped your finger under the tape. You removed the wrapping, and when you saw my note, your face shifted into a look of adoration.

_To help us remember._

Taking a breath, you opened the cover of the scrapbook we made when I was pregnant with Caleb. As you turned the pages, your eyes glistened. I scooted closer to you, leaning into your side as we walked through our history. We've had quite a journey together. Looking at it all at once, it is more wondrous than any fairy tale.

When you got to the end, you stared at the picture of the two of us holding Caleb in the hospital. We looked so happy and proud, as though we were sure the rest of our lives together would be a miracle. You gazed at it for a long time before closing the book and pressing it to your chest. You turned to me and whispered, "I could never forget."


	29. Ithaca

**A/N: Happy New Year! Can you believe it's been a year since Caleb was "born"? This is the final chapter, and I'll post the epilogue this weekend, marking the year anniversary since TtLW was completed. I'll also post the first chapter of my next story, "Wherever the Dandelion Falls." It's not a sequel, but I think you guys will like it.**

**If you haven't already, check out my other _other_ story "First Bite." It's a Brittana vampire/human love story, and is completely different from my domestic dramas. It's a _True Blood_ crossover, but you don't have to watch_ True Blood_ to understand it. It's campy and ridiculous and so much fun to write. Definitely a palate cleanser.**

**Today is my 27th birthday. I started writing the TtLW/MaYaD series almost two years ago, and what a journey it's been! When I started writing TtLW because I was heartbroken and bored at work one day, I never in a million years thought it would lead here. Thank you all for sharing in this journey with me. Most of all, thank you to Muriel, who has been the best companion and guide towards becoming a better writer.**

* * *

><p>Setting our suitcases down and sealing the door to block out the cold, we looked around the cabin. It was cozy and decorated in beautiful contrast with the weather outside. Seashells and dolphins adorned everything, including the mantle of the fireplace in the living room and the ice-covered patio outside. I walked around, taking in the framed pictures of beach landscapes and petrified starfish as you turned up the thermostat, shivering.<p>

"What you do think?" you asked, coming to stand behind me as I looked out at the silent white static of the snow falling outside.

"It's perfect," I murmured.

Even though the cabin was beautiful and peaceful, I felt stiff like the petrified starfish on the walls. You had said this was our second honeymoon, and we both knew what that meant. We were going to be intimate for the first time in months in this place, no matter how scared we felt. We came with no agenda except to reconnect. Work and family and children aside, we had to relearn how to find comfort in each other. It is difficult to find solace in something as fragile and tentative as we felt.

After a simple dinner of soup and bread, you took my hand and led me to the bedroom. I was tired from the drive, but I wasn't going to use that as an excuse to cover up my nervousness. I promised I would tell you when I was uncomfortable with something. I know you meant that you wanted me to tell you when I was uncomfortable with your interactions with other people, but I was trying to communicate everything better. So I spoke up. "I'm nervous."

You bit your lip and looked at me, giving a small nod of agreement.

"This is a lot of pressure," I continued.

Your nod grew bigger. After a moment you released your lip. "We don't have to do anything we're not ready for. How about…" you said, glancing around the room. "How about we just kiss?"

I wasn't sure how I was supposed to respond. Was I supposed to be okay with not having sex? I didn't want anything to feel forced. But us not having sex had been one of our problems.

"Kissing is fun," I said.

You gave me a shy smile. "We can start with kissing and… when we both feel like doing more, then… it'll happen. No pressure."

I nodded, but I wasn't entirely sure I agreed. I felt a lot of pressure to reconnect with you. Part of me wanted to, and part of me was terrified to.

But we were both facing our fears. You were facing your grief and the fact that I'd almost left you. You were making yourself vulnerable when you already felt broken. If I didn't try to match your effort, I wouldn't be a very good wife.

So I changed into my pajamas and got into the strange bed. It was strange in every sense: strange softness, strange texture of sheets, strange pressure to be close to you.

But when you drew my lips to yours as we rested our heads on the pillow, it felt less strange. Your kisses are comforting. Nothing has changed about them. If anything, they grow more reliable and reassuring as we age.

For the first few minutes as we kissed, I had to force myself to think, _all you have to do is kiss. Nothing more. All you have to do is kiss. _But after a few minutes sinking into your lips and feeling your warmth soak into the sheets, I didn't have to make myself think that because I believed it. You didn't expect anything but kissing. And because I knew that, I didn't expect anything more either. When we release our expectations, we stop feeling incomplete.

Your kisses became deeper and our tongues grew bolder. After twenty years, nothing has changed about our kisses. When we were young, we were so ravenous for each other that we didn't take the time to kiss slowly like this, but your mouth is just as exciting and comforting as it has always been. That night, even though I was in a strange bed, I slept better than I had in months.

The next day was New Years Eve and after sleeping in until noon, taking long showers, and spending a few hours reading on the couch, we went ice-skating in a nearby town. Aside from taking Caleb and Ruby a few times, which consisted of holding Ruby with both hands and encouraging Caleb as he wobbled beside us, I hadn't been ice-skating in years. As I built up to a smooth, steady glide, I felt some tightness I hadn't realized I was carrying fall away. Shuffling up beside me, you took my hand and hummed, "I bet everyone here can tell you used to be a dancer."

I gave you a playful quirk of my eyebrow. "I'm still a dancer."

To prove my point, I took your hands and turned so I was skating backwards, pulling you with me. After we were steadily gliding for a few moments, I turned my skates and pulled you into a curve, letting go of one of your hands and twirling into a spin beside you.

You giggled as I turned out of my spin. "Point proven."

You let me lead you around the rink for dozens of laps. Your feet were less sure than mine, but you kept a brave smile. After our legs were sore from skating, I guided you off the ice and offered to bring you a cup of cocoa as you took off your skates. Rubbing your frozen nose, you asked if I wanted to go out to dinner instead. I nodded and after we'd changed out of our skates, you looked up restaurant ratings on your phone. You grinned as you tucked it away, saying you wanted to take me somewhere nice.

The restaurant you took me to was small and beautifully decorated with white Christmas lights and pine boughs. It was almost deserted. It wasn't tourist season, so they weren't staffed for a big dinner crowd. Each table held a candle and a glass bowl of tiny pinecones and chestnuts. They took our coats and sat us next to a big fireplace.

Looking at the menu, you asked me what kind of wine I wanted and then ordered a bottle. As we sipped and waited for our entrees, you asked about my job and what had happened with the principal. I gave you an inquisitive look before I remembered I had mentioned it before our big blowup before Christmas. I told you about what Dr. Collins had said and your face twisted between a look of sympathy for me and controlled anger at her condescension.

Thinking about my job made me think of Jamie. I grew sad, remembering how I'd failed her. You noticed the shift in my demeanor and tilted your head, asking what was wrong.

Even though it made me sadder, I told you what had happened. As I spoke, you looked at me with a combination of reverence and adoration I hadn't seen in a long time. When I stopped talking for a minute, overcome with regret at losing my last chance to help Jamie, you reached for my hand.

"You're an amazing teacher, Britt," you murmured. "I want you to tell me about your job more often."

"Okay," I said. "Do you want to see my slideshow about pubic lice?"

You laughed and took a sip of wine. "No," you said, setting down your glass. "But when you talk about your job, it's easy to remember why I fell in love with you. You have such a big heart."

I felt my ears get hot and looked down at the table. "I want to hear about your job too," I mumbled.

You pulled back a bit, but then leaned forward. "As much as I complain about it, I love my job."

"I know," I said. I paused for a moment. I wanted to be open with you. I've seen your passion for justice flare more often than ever since you took your job. "Aside from taking you away from me and the kids, your job is perfect for you."

You gave me a surprised smile. "Really?"

I nodded and took a sip of wine. "You are so much more passionate about it than you were at Denton's. You have this energy around you whenever you're thinking about it. It's contagious."

"I do?" you asked, smile spreading.

"Mm-hm," I hummed. "It's very sexy."

Your smile turned shy and you looked down at the table. "I'm glad you think my workaholism is sexy," you mumbled, sounding frustrated with yourself and pleased at the same time.

"It's not how much you work, it's how much you care," I said. "You've been passionate since the day I met you. That's why I fell in love with you."

Your smile spread even wider and you looked up at me through your lashes, bashful. It was odd to feel so shy together. It made me giddy in a way I hadn't felt in years.

I was about to tell you that I felt like we were seventeen again and had just started dating when our food came. You thanked the waitress and waited with your fork in hand for me to taste my food. When I gave an approving nod and hummed a _yum_, you smiled and took your first bite.

As we ate, you told me more about your work, how you'd managed to quash the _Mission: America_ drama by threatening to sue them for libel. You told me you had several competitive candidates to fill Mallory's position. You were hesitant to say her name, but when I smiled to reassure you, you relaxed and told me you'd be sad to see her go. She had helped orient you to the job since she'd worked closely with the previous executive director. But nonprofits have a high turnover rate and that was just one more thing you were getting used to.

Halfway through our meal, your phone rang. Seeing it was my parents' number, you answered and smiled at the sound of our children calling to say goodnight. You talked for a minute and then made smooching noises through the phone before handing it to me to do the same. Caleb and Ruby told me they'd gone sledding and built a snowfamily in Gramma and Grampa's backyard before helping Gramma cook dinner and playing Pictionary. From their voices, I could tell they were everything a mother wants her children to be at the end of the day: fed, safe, happy, and tired. I told them that you had taken me ice-skating and to a fancy dinner before saying goodnight and giving them phone kisses.

After I hung up, I sighed and looked down at the dark screen of your phone. You reached for it before drawing your hand back.

"Sorry," you said, shaking your head. "You can look through it, if you want."

I looked up at you, seeing your willingness to sacrifice for our marriage. And although I was curious, I knew I wasn't going to find anything incriminating on your phone, or your computer, or any other device. I wasn't going to find anything because you are a loyal and trustworthy person.

I shook my head and handed the phone back to you. "I trust you," I said.

I knew I wouldn't be taking advantage of our new policy.

When we arrived at our cabin after dinner, you helped me out of my coat and hung it by the door. "Want to make a fire?" you asked, nodding toward the fireplace. I smiled and set to work, layering newspaper and kindling and logs like my dad taught me when I was little. It was taking a little while to catch, and when I finished, I didn't know where you'd gone. Maybe you were in the kitchen pouring a drink or in the bedroom changing into your pajamas. I sat on the couch and pulled a blanket around me. A minute later I was startled when you opened the patio door, letting in a draft of frigid air.

"Come outside," you said with a soft smile.

I wrinkled my nose. "It's like three degrees out there."

"I know," you said, your smile steady. "Please. It's just for a minute, and I'll warm you up afterwards."

Cautious but curious, I got off the couch, drawing the blanket around me. When I joined you outside, I saw you had set up dozens of tiny tea lights on the railing and around the perimeter of the patio, shimmering in the still night air.

"Look familiar?" you asked.

I smiled and nodded.

Ten years ago I surprised you by proposing on the back porch of my parents' house. It didn't go how I was expecting it to, but I wouldn't have it any other way now. After a slight miscommunication, you told me you couldn't bear to marry me until it was legal. Discouraged but determined, I pushed until you explained that you didn't want to get married until our wedding was equal to all other weddings.

We didn't have any idea what awaited us then. We had no idea it would be two years and countless appeals until the state government approved the marriage equality bill. We didn't know we would try for a year before Caleb came to us. We had no idea what treasures and hardships were in store. The memory of our blissful ignorance made me smile.

But standing in the freezing cold, breath coming out in shaky white puffs, you didn't smile. You shivered, since you'd already been out on the porch for a while lighting candles. I wanted to warm you, but we hadn't been as physically close as we used to be in our day-to-day lives yet. All my gestures were tentative and unsure. Everything about us seemed unstable, even though we were trying, like a child learning to ride a bike. People say you never forget how to ride, but it felt like we'd forgotten.

You beckoned me over to you and reached for my hands, yours already shaking with cold.

"It's almost midnight," you said, your voice quivering as you shivered.

I looked at the sky, seeing it was still covered with clouds. I don't know what I expected to find; it's not like people tell time by the moon like we can with the sun.

"I don't have anything to ask you this with," you began, squeezing my hands. "We already have rings and papers."

I looked back at you, wondering where you were going with this.

"But I want to ask you, Brittany Lopez-Pierce, if you'll start the New Year with me by renewing our vows."

I looked at you, waiting for you to tell me what you meant.

"When we made our vows eight years ago, we gave each other beautiful words of commitment and love and gratitude. But there was nothing about balancing our jobs and families and children. There were no practical agreements. So I want us to promise each other that we won't put our marriage aside when other things demand our attention, and to commit to telling each other when we need space or closeness or a break from parenting."

I was starting to shiver, but I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from the intensity of your gaze; you were so determined, so committed to fixing our marriage, it overwhelmed me. I've always known that when you decide to do something, it happens. Perhaps it took us awhile to decide to change, but now we've decided. And because you're the one trying with me, I am certain we'll succeed. I have faith in your passion.

"I want to start this year with you with a new focus. I'm going to put you first. The kids are going to grow up and move out and have adventures of their own, and when they do, I want to look at you and know that we've still got hundreds of adventures of our own, and that we didn't miss too many while they were living with us. And I want to know that I didn't ruin anything by forgetting to show you how much I love you."

Something was burning on my cheek and I realized my tears were freezing and numbing my skin. When you force yourself open and let yourself speak what you feel, I always cry. Seeing you bared has been the thing that makes me love you most. I melt into you and forget we have clothing and air and skin between us. And most of all, I forget the doubts I have. When you are open like this, I see a woman who is capable of loving with the trust and sincerity of a child.

Doubts will always be there. But if I get to see you like this, my beautiful, open, scared Santana, I will never let them win.

I gripped the edges of the blanket and opened it like a cape to encompass you and warm us as we embraced. We still shivered against each other, our quivering a combination of fear and cold and love.

I nodded against your shoulder.

"You'll renew your vows?"

I thought about the commitment I'd made to you at our wedding. We had promised fidelity and love forever. But you were right; there were no details about how to make sure we kept our vows.

"I'll add to the commitment I already made," I offered. "I don't want to change the old vows. I stand by them."

You squeezed me tighter. "And I stand by mine."

We stood there squeezing our bodies together to block out the cold and doubt and fear with our warmth. I was about to ask if we should go inside when I heard firecrackers in the distance and knew it was midnight.

I drew back and looked into your deep, sparkling eyes, telling you with my gaze that I had accepted your proposal. I held your gaze for a long moment, blocking out the crackles and horns and shouts in the distance, focusing on your eyes and lips and cheeks. When I felt you had seen how deeply I was promising, I leaned forward and pressed my shivering lips to yours, kissing the promise into the soft flesh of your mouth. I let my lips massage the promise into place, staining the softness of your flesh with it until I was certain it would never fade.

You smiled at me and we stood there until the wind picked up and we couldn't bear to stand out in the snow any longer. You shepherded me inside and had barely closed the door when you pressed up against me again under the blanket, reconnecting our lips with more freedom and passion than you had on the porch.

I drew the blanket around us tighter as we melted into each other, shooing away the shivers and doubts. Your body is still comforting to me, no matter how much we hurt each other. And we never vowed not to hurt each other; to take such vows would be irresponsible. Everyone hurts people, even when they don't mean to, and it's the people we love and trust the most that hurt us the deepest. If I didn't love you, nothing about the past few months would have been hard.

While we kissed, you drew my hands to your chest, holding them over your heart. My hands were still cold, and I felt your skin flare with goose bumps at my touch. You let out a shaky giggle and said, "Cold hands, warm heart." I kissed you again, not wanting to be away from your lips as I hummed an agreement. Despite the melting chill of my body, I felt warm inside. Warm enough to let down my guard and be with you in every way.

You walked me deeper into the living room of our cottage, towards the fire. When we got there, you took the blanket from my shoulders and laid it on the ground, not bothering to smooth out the wrinkles and bumps and folds. You stood in the center of it and held your hand out to me, asking me to join you.

I knew what you were asking, and I didn't hesitate as I took your hand and pressed into you, telling you I was ready.

Your hands cupped my face as you continued kissing me, your lips more delicate and intentional than usual, as if you were cradling me with your mouth. You kissed my jaw and slid your fingers through my hair as I tipped my head back, asking you to kiss the pulse in my neck. As your lips grazed and brushed and sucked on my tender spot, I felt myself dampen and instantly wanted to be naked with you. In my mind, I was already naked and rocking into you, under you, on top of you. I had already surrendered to showing you everything that had been buried, but not forgotten, in my heart.

As we undressed each other, I felt myself slipping down to the floor, sliding down your front, pulling you with me. We sank down, cushioned by the blanket, trying not to jostle each other as we settled on the ground. As we did, I surrendered: to you, to a new beginning, and to how hard our lives can be. But the difficulty is not for lack of love.

In some ways, making love to you has gotten easier over the years. But in many ways it's gotten harder. We've hurt each other so much and we've grown accustomed to the distance that hurt created, however temporary. I didn't want to be distant anymore. I wanted to be as close to you as I could.

I pressed you back far enough that you straightened out your legs under me before crossing them. I settled into your lap, wrapping my legs around your waist, clinging to you as I felt my heart race and the heat pooling between my spread legs. We continued our sensual, confident kisses as our hands roamed each other's backs and breasts and behinds.

In the months we'd drifted apart, I'd missed your touch so much. But not just your touch; I missed knowing you could feel me in every inch of your skin. Even though we were moving slowly and trying to keep our breathing steady, my body was aching and pulsing against yours.

Your mouth hovered next to my ear, giving it a few feathery kisses before you nudged your nose into my hair, inhaling deeply.

"I love you, Britt," you whispered, barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

My hands slid up your back, fingers pressing into the warm, tender flesh. "I love you, too."

You brought your lips to my ear, licking and tugging gently as you curved your back to fit your arm between us. You know the feeling and the sound of your mouth drive me crazy. You nipped one last time before leaning back and looking me deep in the eyes as you slid your fingers into my center.

Shaking, I exhaled and squeezed my legs tighter around your waist, pressing your fingers deeper. Your fingers are as familiar as my own, but when I let you inside me in every way, it still feels new and tender.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting my head tilt back. It felt good. We were coming alive together again after months of distance. Relief and pleasure flooded through me, emanating from your hands and coursing through my muscles. But as I tipped my head back further, rutting against you, I realized I didn't feel as good as when I was looking at you. I sat up straighter, opening my eyes again. You smiled in relief and your free hand pressed against my side, helping me move with you.

I drew my hands to your breasts and watched as your face slackened with pleasure, sinking deeper into our lovemaking. Your eyes grew hazy, locked with mine.

Your breasts were warm against my fingers, smooth and just the right size for the palm of my hand, making it easy to knead and caress them. You gasped as I pinched your left nipple. I pressed down against your fingers harder, wanting you to know just how good I felt. There was no hint of desperation or sadness or fear. Tonight was the most peaceful sex I could remember having in a long, long time. We rocked together, always connected through our gaze or lips or breath.

When you had drawn me to the precipice and I was shaking with anticipation, you kissed me as you curled your fingers up and pressed down onto my clit with your thumb. I clenched and then arched against you, crying out into our kiss. My legs gripped your waist and you smiled into me as you felt me coming on your hand. You tried to keep moving inside me, but I was pressed too tightly against you. I never wanted to let go.

As I came down, I broke our kiss and slumped against you, my sweat blending into your skin. A smile broke across my face and I groaned with pleasure, resting my head on your shoulder. I could hear you breathe out a smile as you swept your free hand over my back, holding me close and soothing me.

When I could muster enough energy, I pulled back, letting you see my sated grin. You smiled back and kissed my mouth with sloppy, passionate lips.

"I love you, Britt," you mumbled between kisses. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I sighed as you trailed kisses down my damp neck and into my hair.

I breathed for a moment before I pressed my torso into you just enough to get you to lean back. You extracted your hand from between us and lay down, hair spread against the blanket and arms open, presenting your beautiful breasts to me, skin glowing in the firelight.

Our best times have always been this open and tender.

I shifted over you, letting you lie flat as I entwined my legs with yours, now straightened behind me. I pressed my lips to your cheek and heard you hum. I moved my mouth lower, giving your neck a succulent kiss. You sighed as I moved my lips past your collarbone. Each kiss whispered _I love you_ into your skin as you curled your back and I trailed my kisses to the swell of your breast. When I felt the stiff bud of your nipple brush my chin, I dipped my head to take it between my lips, tilting my head to watch your face as I slid my tongue across it. You brought your hand to your other breast, kneading it as you gasped and shifted your legs under me. I coaxed your hand away from your breast and began tracing circles with my finger around the nipple as I slid my tongue around the one in my mouth. Your squirming morphed into heaving sighs as I increased my suction. Finally you convulsed and pushed my shoulder back, overwhelmed by the pressure.

"Britt," you gasped.

"Mm?" I hummed, sucking your other nipple until you wriggled away from the pressure.

"Please touch me," you panted. "Please."

You were gazing up at me, imploring. Licking your nipple again, I slid my hand between our bodies. I wanted to feel you clutch and spin and moan against me. You parted your legs, giving my hand space and permission. I tried not to tremble as the tips of my fingers brushed down your stomach to meet the wetness between your legs.

You cried out as I slid my fingers through your heat. Your face transformed at my touch; your mouth fell open, your eyes became hooded. You parted your legs wider, urging me to continue.

I stroked you gently, watching as your brow knit and your lips pursed, your gaze pleading as you rocked into my hand. You closed your eyes for a moment, wincing with anticipation, but opened them and stared deep into my eyes again, not wanting to break our bond.

My fingers drew you higher as I studied your face. You rubbed yourself along my hand until I felt you tensing in frustration. I spread your legs wider and let my thumb draw feather-light circles on your most sensitive spot. Your mouth fell open as a moan flew out. I pressed harder and your body twisted with pleasure, straining and arching as you released, letting my fingers pull you through. Mid-peak, you lifted your hand to draw my face down to yours, reuniting our lips while you rode the final waves on my fingers.

When you came down, I removed my hand, resting it just below you navel as you beamed up at me, sated and sleepy and damp. We kissed for a while longer before I lay my head against your chest and you let out a deep, contented sigh. I tried to even our breathing again as I reached for your hand, clutching it against the blanket. Our reunion was complete.

You smiled and shifted beneath me so you could look into my eyes as you ran your fingertip over my cheek. Although we were tired, we stayed awake for a long time gazing at each other, the air between us warm and damp. I rested my head on my arm, studying your face as if it were new, though it still held all the tenderness of the familiar. Your eyes were warm and shiny and soft, smiling though your lips were tired and parted.

When we had cooled, I pulled the blanket around us as you gave a contented hum. I draped an arm over your waist and pulled you closer. Closing my eyes, I took your hand in mine and squeezed.

There is something deep and rich and alive in you that I will never cease to thirst for. Something earthen and good and wild that grounds me and excites me and seeps into my very bones. When you leave a room, part of it lingers, like the smell of a spice or the echo of a song.

"How do we keep this weekend with us when we go back to our lives?" you wondered aloud. Even in our satisfied stupor, you were scared that we'd lose everything we'd regained in the past three days and go back to leading parallel lives.

I could have offered up dozens of suggestions about ritual and communication and priorities, but we had done so much of that already. So instead, I nestle closer against you and said, "We have faith."

You hummed an agreement. If nothing else, we have faith in our love.

And with that, we fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

><p>I think there's a reason most fairy tales end with <em>happily ever after<em>. It's because the _after_ part isn't as exciting as the falling in love. Sometimes it's hard, painful, or boring. But I wouldn't trade my life with you for any other.

Now I realize that there is no ending. The pendulum will continue to swing, and I will never grasp the center. Our lives are spent in pursuit of a balance we never achieve, and I will always feel some sense of incompletion. But there is no one I want to share that incompletion with but you. You are my heart, my tether, my wife. I love you more than I want to wander. That is what makes you my home.

I don't know what the rest of our lives will bring. Challenges, surely. Happiness, we hope. But I know one thing is certain: one day we'll be lying in our graves, side by side, just me and you. From our bodies, flowers will grow, and we are in them. To me, that is eternity.


	30. Epilogue

**A/N: I'm not able to complete the first chapter of ****_Wherever the Dandelion Falls_**** for posting today. I'm too caught up in writing ****_First Bite_**** and I can't write two stories at once. I anticipate posting the first chapter of ****_Dandelion_**** sometime in March or April, depending on how much creative energy I'm able to focus at that time. Until then,enjoy ****_First Bite_****! I look forward to having fun with ****_Dandelion_**** when I get there.**

**This epilogue marks the completion of this 'verse. Thank you to Muriel for guiding me through it, and thank you all for sharing the journey.**

* * *

><p>I gripped your hand on the armrest between our seats. Your hand is still small and soft, unweathered by gardening or manual labor. Your wedding ring still sits proudly on your finger, seeming more stately and powerful against the newfound wrinkles and rising veins. It looks beautiful and queenly. Like you.<p>

You couldn't sit still, your feet tapping and your eyes darting about the room, taking in the other people waiting. Ruby sat a few chairs down, her long black hair draping over her collared shirt. At thirty-two, she is the spitting image of you when you were her age. She looks so professional and grown up, but she is as spirited as ever. When she was old enough to realize that God isn't her bio-dad, she declared that Science is her dad, and that was all that mattered. These days, she jokes that she works for her dad. Her career as a biophysicist has been fast-paced, and she gets just as much joy out of it as you get out of your work as the executive director of the Ohio Coalition for Preventing Violence Towards Women.

Ruby was typing on her tablet as her feet mirrored your anxious dance. As she finished typing something, she sighed.

"Breaking more hearts, Roo?" I asked.

Her eyes flickered up to mine. "Maybe," she grumbled.

"Who?" I said, my smile growing smug.

"Some guy I met a conference," she said, trying to brush me off. "But it's the same story as all the others."

"Too serious too fast?" I asked.

Ruby scrunched up her nose and nodded.

In many ways, Ruby is any man's dream. Like you, people tend to notice when she walks in a room. She has no shortage of men lining up to date her. The physicists and engineers she works with drool over her when she walks into a meeting or conference, and once they realize how smart she is, they're usually too intimidated to approach her. But doctors and lawyers and other accomplished men line up for days to take her out to dinner.

But Ruby doesn't want to get married or have kids, and even though countless men have tried, none have succeeded in changing her mind. She's happy with her career and her friends. I love that she won't change to make other people happy. I feel like we did right by her. No matter where her life takes her, I know she'll be fine.

The door to the room opened and Caleb walked through. At thirty-four, he's tall and handsome, with a kind face and gentle presence. He is more of a man than I ever dreamed he would become.

As he pulled the surgical mask down to hang around his neck, his face was split in an overjoyed grin. "Eight pounds, three ounces. Healthy and alert."

"And Jenn?" you asked, your hands moving to sign Jenn's name.

Caleb said _Good_ with his hands, his smile growing as he spoke and signed simultaneously, "She was amazing."

You let out a relieved breath as Ruby bounded out of her seat and hugged Caleb, her head only coming up to his shoulder as they embraced.

"I'm so happy for you," she said through her squeeze. "Jenn's going to be a great mom."

After graduating with a degree in Deaf Studies, Caleb started doing professional sign language interpretation. He's good with languages and can read people's bodies better than anyone I know, so sign language is perfect for him. He's too shy to do public interpretation at big lectures and events, but he does well with one-on-one work. He's good at it; his clients are loyal and pay him generously. He works especially well with people who suffered hearing loss in adulthood. His gentleness and compassion are a good fit for people who are angry and scared and frustrated by their hearing loss.

A few years into his career, Jenn hired Caleb to interpret for her while she attended graduate classes. Unlike most of Caleb's clients, Jenn was born deaf. After one class and a cup of coffee, Jenn fired him and asked him on a date. Sheepish but excited, Caleb agreed. Three years ago they got married and nine months ago they told us they were expecting.

Caleb and Jenn had done prenatal testing of their son's hearing and brain activity associated with hearing was detected. But you had researched how to care for deaf infants, just in case. You're prepared for just about anything.

As soon as Ruby released Caleb, he took a few steps towards us, arms open wide. You rushed into them as you said, "Congratulations, sweetie."

"He's got your eyes," he said, squeezing you. "There's no question he's a Lopez."

You gasped with happiness against him.

When Caleb was twelve, he came home from school one day and asked if Uncle Carlos had helped us make him. I panicked and didn't know what to say. You bit your lip, glancing at me before nodding. Caleb's reaction had been a simple: "That's nice." It never came up again until Jenn got pregnant and Caleb told you he was proud to be carrying on the family line.

Ruby had a happy, amused grin on her face as she watched you hug our son. "You better love this one a whole lot, Ma," she said. "Because there's no way I'm going to Abuelify you."

You smiled at her, head still pressed to Caleb's chest, but I saw a flicker of worry pass over your face, darting up into your hair that is now beautifully streaked with silver. Becoming an abuela reminded you of your mom. But you don't need to worry, Santana. You are nothing like your mother was.

When you finally let go of Caleb, I fell into his arms. He is sturdy and warm and gentle. Everything about him is comforting. As he squeezed me to his chest, I felt about to burst with pride. Our son is a dad now. He gets to experience every wonder he's given us. And he gets to experience them with a woman we all adore.

We were exhausted when we got home from the hospital that night. We had cried so many happy tears meeting baby Toby. He was as perfect as Caleb said he was; big, dark eyes that flickered as he tried to focus on everything around him, alert and responsive to our voices. As we got ready for bed, your eyes were tired, but they still shone.

As I drew back the covers to crawl into our bed, I saw you staring in the mirror, your fingers dancing along the edge of your eye. As I looked closer, I saw you were smoothing out the wrinkles that rested there. I don't notice your wrinkles often. When I look at you, I see someone who is timeless and brave and sometimes scared, but always beautiful. My memory of who you've been erases whatever lines time has drawn on your face.

Realizing that becoming a grandmother was making you feel old, I stepped into you, gentle and quiet like a fawn. Moving your hand away from your face, I kissed the crease and let my lips rest there for a moment. Then I tipped my chin down and smiled at you.

"You'll always be seventeen to me, Santana."


End file.
